


Second Chances

by ros3bud009



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Amnesia, Canon Divergent, M/M, Past Ratchet/Wheeljack, Past Relationship(s), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, alcohol mention, from the end of the Orion Pax arc onward, self destructive behavior, will add tags as necessary - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6279388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I suspect I am not the Optimus you had been hoping for.”</p><p>In which Orion Pax becomes Optimus Prime again, but the Matrix fails to return his memories of his time as Prime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Five new warnings pinged on Ratchet’s HUD, as if he was somehow unaware that Megatron’s arm had smashed into him and sent him crashing onto an equally unforgiving rock floor. The rattling in his chassis was worrying and the integrity percentage of his back strut was something he should address before daring to take another hit like that. Requests to shut down and reboot came faster than intakes of cool air for his overtaxed self-repair systems.

                Nevertheless, Ratchet forced his optics to online again, searching for the blue light of the matrix, for the red and silver and blue of his Prime, hope and fear warring—

                “Megatron – be gone!”

                There was always certain satisfaction to be had in watching the Decepticon warlord receive the same treatment he had dished out. This time though, that satisfaction was completely drowned out by sheer relief

                Optimus was back. By the Allspark, he was back.

                Bumblebee pulled the medic to his pedes, keeping a servo on his shoulder as they made their way up to the platform until Ratchet was steady enough to shake him off. Relief flooded his processor to see Bulkhead and Arcee up and taking their places at their Prime’s side. And Optimus himself—

                His canons were already drawn and aimed in the direction he had sent Megatron flying, stance wide and poised to rush forward, his mask out; in every way the leader of the Autobots.

                Ratchet’s spark swelled with pride.

                However, when the Prime glanced back to take stock of his team and stopped at Ratchet, his optics were not those of the battle weary Prime he had known for the last few million years. Uncertainty was not alien to him, but there was a quiet plea for help that did not fit.

                “Ratchet?” he asked, as if it was possible he had the wrong mech.

                The Medic’s optics widened and his processor spun before stopping at the most likely reality of the situation. As much as Ratchet tried to rationalize any other possibility, unbidden memories rushed to the forefront as proof of concept – memories of his dear archivist dragging himself out of Cybertron itself, no longer the bot he once was. When his body became far stronger, and wisdom unimaginably old started to intermingle with his spark, and his unbelievingly blue optics were nearly filled to bursting with disbelief and anxiety; when the Prime was like a stumbling new forge.

                When he was still just as much Orion as he was Optimus.

                Four million years later and Ratchet still knew those optics in an instant.

                The Matrix had turned Orion Pax into Optimus Prime once more, but not the one it had taken with it into Unicron’s core. His stature as Prime returned, but his memories of the last millions of years were still lost.

                Ratchet ignored the looks from the other team members and his own stuttering spark, instead holding Optimus’s gaze as he nodded in confirmation. The Prime’s shoulder relaxed ever so slightly.

                A jet engine roared with rage from across the cavern.

                “Fowler, send a ground bridge _now_ ,” Ratchet commed to base.

                “We’re detecting five signatures now. Is Prime with you?”

                “And Jack,” Arcee replied before Ratchet could. The mic at base caught a whisper of June’s relieved sigh that was quickly lost in the whirr of the ground bridge opening beside them. It only took a glance before Arcee turned to the team. “That’s ours.”

                Megatron was back on his pedes and sprinting towards them, sword drawn. Optimus shifted and started to fire. His shoulder jolted for a klik, as if surprised by his own movements. “Go!” he called back.

                Bulkhead shouted “This time he’s coming with us,” as he and the other two warriors fired off some shots before in turn jumping into the bridge with Jack. Once they were all through, Ratchet had started to move before noticing that Optimus had not stepped any closer to the bridge. While the blasts slowed him, the Decepticon warlord was nearly upon them – soon, the Prime would not have enough time to make his escape as well.

                “Optimus!” he shouted, and when there was no immediate response, Ratchet reached out to yank at one of his smoke stacks. “ _Orion_!”

                That caught the Prime’s attention and confirmed Ratchet’s fears. Optimus finally looked back, pausing for a moment to consider the medic before nodding. It only took a couple of his long strides before he pushed off the ledge and disappeared through the ground bridge.

                The last thing Ratchet heard before he slipped through the vortex behind Optimus was Megatron’s howl of rage.

                And the first thing he saw on the other side as the bridge closed behind him was the team, Fowler and June, the _children_ , all staring with trepidation at the Prime. All he saw of Optimus was his backside, but Ratchet could imagine the confused look on his face.

                As the high intensity of the their fight with Megatron faded, the team was left with a barely balanced tension, as if every process paused waiting for the last data point to indicate how they should proceed.

                “Optimus?” Rafael’s voice was small but spoke volumes. All optics and eyes were trained on the Prime.

                “I--” Optimus began, pausing as he lifted a servo to his chest where the matrix resided once more. He considered his servo as if it were a stranger’s.

                With a quick intake to cool his overheated chassis, Ratchet stepped up to his side and placed a servo on Optimus’s upper arm. He could not help tightening his grip slightly when Optimus looked to him, again seeking confirmation.

                “I—I suppose so,” Optimus finally replied, considering the small human before him again. “Although I suspect I am not the Optimus you had been hoping for.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?” Miko asked as she pushed past Rafael, hands at her hips and head tilted. All around her though were slowly forming expressions of understanding.

                Fowler took a couple steps forward as well. “Now hold on a second here, Prime – do you have your memories back or not?”

                “I carry the knowledge of the past Primes now, so I am Optimus Prime,” he started, his servo clenched above where his spark and matrix were housed, “but I – I am aware that I was your leader, but I have not gained any memories of that time. I know little of what has happened since—” Again the mech paused, optic ridge furrowed as if searching his own processor. Nothing concrete seemed to come to him as his expression hardly shifted. “—Well, certainly before this war. And most of what little I have learned was from Megatron, so there is no way for me to know what was deception.”

                There was a muttered “Scrap” from Arcee and Bumblebee visibly drooped with a whir.

                “But this was supposed to fix him!” Miko cried out, her eye locked on Ratchet. Bulkhead had already knelt beside her, his servo massive against her back. He started to speak, his tone soft, but she spoke over his attempt. “You said so yourself!”

                Ratchet’s armor pulled tight against his frame, as if to protect him against the words he had already started to berate himself with.

                “It was only ever a theory,” Ratchet replied, already regretting the bitterness he could not keep from his tone. His spark ached for the millions of years of their friendship that were beyond his reach. He rebooted his voice box to speak more evenly. “If I had to guess, I would say that Optimus – that you,” he clarified, glancing up at the mech, “did gain back your previous knowledge.  After all, you regained fighting instincts, which Orion never had. But the Matrix has always been mysterious, so there was no way to know what it considers knowledge and keeps, and what it discounts as simply memory.”

                Optimus nodded slowly, his servos clenching and unclenching. “The knowledge I have does seem to be detached from any personal meaning or significance to any of the Primes. I have no memories from them. It would follow then that my own suffered the same fate.”

                Silence settled, cybertronians and humans alike unsure of what to do. It had never occurred to any of them that they might get Optimus back without his memories.

                Ratchet wished he had any idea of what to do, but he was far too overwhelmed to even understand what he was feeling. Primus knew he had no solution for anyone else.

                It was Bulkhead who stepped up, getting to his pedes and moving to stand in front of Optimus.

                “Doesn’t matter how or why,” he started, servo waving as if to dispel the melancholy that had settled. There was a genuine grin on his face. “The only thing that really matters is that we have you back on our side, Optimus.”

                A warm smile bloomed on the Prime’s face in return and he reached out to put a servo on his shoulder. Bulkhead’s expression faltered for a moment, shocked at the open expression on Optimus’ face.

                “Thank you, ah--” Optimus started, halting awkwardly for a klik.

                “Name’s Bulkhead.”

                “Thank you, Bulkhead,” he repeated, his smile still in place, and Ratchet could have sworn his spark skipped a beat.

                Arcee and Bumblebee shared a brief look before stepping up as well. “For once, Bulk is right,” the femme said teasingly before placing all her attention on the Prime. “Arcee, at your service.”

                “::And I’m Bumblebee.::”

                “Arcee,” Optimus repeated as he had before with Bulkhead, tilting his helm to her before turning to the scout, “and Bumblebee. You also have my thanks.”

                “And I’m Miko!” the human girl shouted while scrambling up onto Bulkhead’s pede, as if the couple of extra feet helped. Ratchet simply looked on with amusement as Optimus knelt down on one knee and then leaned even further down so he was closer to her level. The other humans made their introductions as well, albeit in much less exaggerated ways. Even Fowler managed to be polite, even though he insisted they talk at length soon so he could explain their working relationship and expectations.

                Optimus made certain to repeat every name given to him. June mentioned that she would not take it personally if he had to ask again – he was learning several names all at once, after all – but the Prime released a small, amused vent. “While the circumstances suggest otherwise, I promise I usually have no difficulty remembering information. I appreciate the consideration nevertheless, June.”

                Finally, the Prime straightened his back and turned his helm, and even while kneeling he did not have to look up too far to meet Ratchet’s gaze. His optics still looked too young, but at least they held mirth instead of unease.

                “I’m glad to see that you’re still by my side, Ratchet,” he said warmly as he stood, clasping a servo to the medic’s upper arm.

                “Where else would I be?” Ratchet replied with a shrug, grinning despite himself.

                And then Optimus’s face shifted, and this time when he smiled his whole face lit up. There was – no, it could not have been, Ratchet assured himself, but yet there it was – _adoration_ in the look and it sent Ratchet’s spark whirling. His optics were blindingly bright, the grin lopsided, and it was all almost as if he – as if—

                “I must admit that I was temporarily taken in by Megatron’s lie. I should have known better than to doubt you.”

                Ratchet’s processer came to a screeching halt.

                “What – he—what did he say about me?”

* * *

                “Stop that!”

                “Stop what?” Miko asked in a singsong voice. Ratchet did not bother to look up from where he was reattaching the last of Optimus’ abdominal plates. Luckily for the Prime, the beating he had apparently taken while aboard the Nemesis had only loosened some of the wiring and nicked one of the tubes that lay beneath the armor.

                “Miko,” Bulkhead softly chided. “It’s not a good idea to make fun of the _doctor_.”

                Ratchet heard the grin and turned his helm to glower. “No, no--”

                “You mean the--”

                “ _No_.”

                “Doctor _of Doom_?” Bulkhead finished and Miko crumpled with laughter. Ratchet could not contain the frustrated rev of his engines.

                “I’ll give you a doctor of doom,” Ratchet grumbled while returning to his work, his systems running hot under his plating. Knowing that Megatron had not only remembered his synth-en induced rambling, but had then used it to mock him from afar made his fuel lines boil. The only saving grace was that the team did not know that Megatron was quoting him. It would have been all the more insufferable if they knew that he himself came up with the phrase.

                He supposed the bright side was that it distracted everyone. Soon after introductions Ratchet had opened a private comm with the team telling them not to overwhelm their Prime with questions just yet. While Optimus seemed to be doing better than he would have expected, the medic was sure this must have been a very confusing time for him. No need to stress him out further with an interrogation.

                Ratchet could only assume the team managed to get the message to their favored children (and Jack to his mother, and she to Fowler) as they were led to the med bay since they had also kept their questions to themselves. They busied themselves with trying to help with the medical equipment.

                If being mocked as the ‘Doctor of Doom’ meant Optimus would have an easier transition then so be it.

                The armor plate finally clamped into place.

                “That should be it,” Ratchet said, standing up straight and stretching out his back. A reminder that he needed to have his back strut tended to popped up on his HUD and was quickly excused. He would have time once the rest of the team was up and running. “Now sit up and we’ll take care of your shoulder.”

                Optimus did sit up, swinging his pedes over the side of the berth, but he raised a questioning optic ridge.

                “But that was the last of my injuries.”

                Ratchet waved the comment off as he moved to his work table to grab a laser torch. “I’m not going to leave those unsightly things on you a moment longer.”

                Once Ratchet had turned back to his patient, Optimus had rotated one of his shoulders to consider the Decepticon insignia branded onto the armor.

                “While I do want them to be removed eventually,” he started, allowing his shoulder to return to its natural position, “they’re not causing me any harm either. You should move on to someone else.”

                “Absolutely not! They’re coming off now.” Optimus started to get to his pedes, only stalling when Ratchet raised a servo in a halting fashion a few feet from the Prime’s chest and tutted him. “It won’t take long, so sit back down.”

                There was definitely whispering coming from where Arcee was doing her best to tend to Bumblebee’s external injuries. No doubt making ‘Doctor of Doom’ comments.

                Optimus’s optics narrowed.

                “Ratchet, this is ridiculous. You should attend to Bumblebee or Bulkhead. I wanted to look through the database to educate myself on our situation anyway,” he stated, continuing to get to his feet. Ratchet’s servo did not yield, staying in place even as Optimus’s chest came up to meet it. “Once you’re finished, you may come and get me.”

                Ratchet hesitated, but did not move.

                “Who’s the doctor here, hm? Now sit back down.”

                Optimus took in a vent, but before he could continue to argue, Bumblebee whirred from where he sat on the other med berth. “::You know, you can just tell him to do it. He’s the doc, but you’re the Prime.::”

                The medic whipped his helm around to see Bumblebee shrug and Arcee smirking at him. Miko leaned over to Rafael, no doubt to ask what Bumblebee had said, and with his response she grinned and cupped her hands around her mouth as she let out an “Oooooooooooh burn!”

                “Ratchet,” Optimus said gently, and when Ratchet focused back on him, the Prime had a conflicted look on his face. However, he still continued on. “Work on the others and let me know when you’re finished.”

                No ‘you should.’ Just a statement. An experiment, really, testing out what felt to him like a new role.

                With a sharp ex-vent, Ratchet dropped the servo.

                “Fine. Have it your way.”

                Optimus’s mouth actually gapped a bit at that, looking surprised despite having made the order himself. “That’s it?”

                Ratchet waved him off as he turned back to his work table and put the torch away again, snapping, “You heard them.”

                Despite Ratchet’s bitter tone, there was amusement in Optimus’s when he replied, “You’ll have to forgive me then. I’m not used to this.”

                Ratchet pulled up the scans he had done of the team when they first settled into the med bay. Bulkhead’s scans showed some damage, that was certain, but when placed next to Bumblebee’s, they were minimal. The scout would come first. “Don’t lie. You always got your way in the end.”

                “Not without at least ten minutes of argument.”

                “You exaggerate.”

                “Do I?” Optimus was _teasing_ him.

                Ratchet shook his head as he swept the medical scans to one of the side screens and brought up a few new windows. A report Optimus himself had written for Agent Fowler when they first arrived which gave a brief summary of the Cybertronian war and what had brought them to earth; a database of the reports Agent Fowler wrote up for each of their missions (with annotations correcting his mistakes that he often ignored); profiles of each the team members, including Optimus’s; an inventory of the base’s equipment and energon supplies.

                “Now look who’s wasting time.”

                Optimus hummed as he walked up next to the medic, his lips quirked in a small smile, and it was truly disarming how easily he smiled now.

                “This is still more time efficient comparatively.”

                “Stop gloating. It’s unseemly for a Prime.” His tone had been chiding, but it got a genuine chuckle out of Optimus. “Just remember, the _second_ I’m done, you’re sitting your aft back down on my med berth.”

                “Of course, Ratchet.” Optimus caught his gaze, nodding, before he turned his attention to the screen. Once his optics started to scan the documents, his expression went lax, as if the mech’s processor had already forgotten he had a face at all. Ratchet just huffed with humor. Optimus had always been quick to get immersed in research, but war had taught him to still always be aware of his body and surroundings. When he had been Orion, however, he would literally lose himself in the work. One late night, seemingly lifetimes ago, he had even confessed to Ratchet that he had to regularly set alarms before starting his work after an incident where he nearly ran himself out of energon because he had become too absorbed. It was only once another archivist realized Orion had not left in nearly three whole cycles that he was sent to the nearest hospital and once fueled again he was forced to take a decacycle off.

                Ratchet made a note to keep an eye out for newly revived habits in their Prime.

                “Alright then, Bumblebee, you’re next--” he started before noticing the looks he was receiving. All three warriors’ optics were cycled wide. Even the children looked surprised. The medic raised an optic ridge. “What?”

                “Nothin’,” Bulkhead quickly replied before clearing his voice box. Nevertheless, he glanced past Ratchet, and he did not need to turn around to know that Bulkhead had look at Optimus.

                Already put out by the beating around the bush, Ratchet stepped up to the team and said more quietly but all the more sternly, “ _What_?”

                The team just looked at each other awkwardly until it was Rafael of all beings who spoke up. “Well, it’s just that we knew you guys were old friends, but we’ve just never seen you guys actually act that… friendly, I guess?”

                “Friendly,” Ratchet repeated, unimpressed. “You’re surprised we can act _friendly_.”

“He actually laughed,” Arcee pointed out. “I don’t think even we’ve heard that for a few decades at least.”

                “Not to mention he acted like he actually did remember you,” Jack pointed out. “Like you were talking about the good old days or something.”

                Miko immediately picked up on that. “Yeah, how did he remember you when he forgot the rest of us? That’s not fair.”

                Ratchet took a slow, deep intake of air as he closed in on Bumblebee, pulling out his tools to get started. “I was friends with Orion long before he became Optimus,” he explained. “So he remembers me from when we were young.”

                “Wait, wait, so, those stories you told us about Orion? You were there when they happened?” Jack asked.

                “Most of them,” Ratchet replied. Once Bumblebee’s sensornet was shut down, he motioned for the children to move and started on the process of removing the armor in his way. The scout had three leaking tubes, and while they were slow and would eventually be closed off by his auto-repair systems, they did not have the resources to let even the smallest amounts of energon go to waste. Once those were welded shut, he would address the damaged hydraulics.

                “So you also knew Megatron back then?” Rafael asked quietly. He seemed hesitant, afraid to ask, but as Ratchet let the question roll around his processor, a smirk pulled at his lips.

                “Oh yes. Did you know he wrote poetry?”

                Revenge was petty, but Ratchet never claimed to be otherwise.

* * *

                 By the time Ratchet had finished patching up the team, the children were long gone, having been dragged off by June since it was getting late by human standards. Fowler had managed to bring Optimus out of his research stupor and after speaking with him for about an hour seemed satisfied and had left as well. Arcee was on monitor duty while Bumblebee and Bulkhead had been sent to their quarters to recharge.

                Now that warriors were treated, Ratchet considered dragging Optimus away from the screens as he had said he would. However, his systems were running themselves ragged. Something still rattled in his chest and the entirety of his back was a constant ache.

                Besides, Optimus was still completely absorbed in his research. The pages that Ratchet had pulled up had already been fully digested and dismissed and new pages brought up. Ratchet was surprised to see that he had already dug up the personal logs Optimus had been keeping and updating since his days as Orion. While a very large file by virtue of it containing over four million years’ worth of entries, it was always buried deep in whatever computer system it was stored on at the time and heavily protected. The medic could count on one servo how many bots knew about it. Furthermore, Ratchet had been the only other mech entrusted with the knowledge of how to access the files in case something were to happen to Optimus himself, and to date he had never done so.

                Ratchet had thought he would have to dig it up at some point, but clearly he should have never worried. Optimus had no doubt forgotten he kept up with his personal entries, but had managed nonetheless to not only find but break into his former self’s person recounts of his life.

                So Ratchet decided to take some time to fix what he could on his own frame. It took careful programing to shut down his sensory receptors in his chest while maintaining those in his servos, but he knew the insides of his body the way others knew their own names. Over the next hour, his wires, tubes, and organs were carefully righted in not only his chest, but also his legs and arms.

                However, his back was simply out of the question. Ratchet would have to leave it up to his auto-repair systems to stitch together the hairline fractures. It would take a few days, but it would eventually right itself.

                Unfortunately, that meant his rate of energon consumption would also increase. Ratchet checked the screen in his forearm; everyone else was alright, though he would have to make sure they refueled a bit extra the next day to make up for their own self-repair systems. Optimus was practically full – it was a small relief to know he was at least well fueled while in Megatron’s keep. Ratchet’s own level was nearing the red end of the spectrum.

                He needed to refuel soon.

                Ratchet chewed on his bottom lip before ex-venting with a shake of his head. For the moment, it was nice to simply lie on the med berth. He still had half of yesterday’s ration somewhere around the med bay, so he would go get it in a bit.

                Just a moment to let his optics shut off.

* * *

                 “Ratchet?”

                It took a few moments for the auditory information to be processed, and still more to understand it was his name being called. The mech made an attempt to online his optics, but all that filtered through was a blur.

                “Are you online?”

                It took longer this time to parse what the sounds meant. It took a couple aborted attempts, but finally he managed to lean up on his elbows. Restarting his optics helped some – the singular blur was now a scene of distinguishable blurs.

                There was steadying pressure pressing up against his back, helping him to keep his head up. A servo. Probably from the mech speaking to him. And then there was a softer, gentler pressure drifting across his cheek, cupping it in a warm hold. There were lights in the main blur in the middle of his vision, brilliant blue that bled into the rest of the image, giving everything a blue hue.

                Ratchet restarted his optics again, and this time he could make out Optimus’ face watching him carefully.

                Seconds later, his HUD finished booting up, and immediately a giant warning took up half his vision.

**WARNING: LOW ENERGON LEVELS**

                The medic groaned. His processor felt heavy and slow, still groggy from the interruption of the deep recharge he had not meant to fall into. To make matters worse his tank felt as if it was collapsing in on itself.

                Optimus removed the servo that had cradled his face – odd that it was there at all, but Ratchet did not have to capacity to think deeply about it – and picked up a cube of energon that was sat on the berth next to Ratchet. It was not the half ration he still had stashed somewhere nearby, but rather a full, new cube from their supplies.

                “Here,” the Prime said simply. Ratchet grabbed the cube and without further instruction brought it to his mouth and started to chug. He was aware it was hardly polite, especially in front of his Prime, and there was guilt nudging at the back of his helm, reminding him of how low their supplies were. And yet once the cool liquid started to slide down his intake, his starved systems refused to let him stop until the last drop had been emptied from the cube.

                “I can go get more.”

                Ratchet shook his head as he shifted to sit up fully. Optimus’s servo on his back moved with him, warm and comforting. “Was more than enough,” he mumbled before rebooting his voice box. “Sorry. I hadn’t meant to recharge without refueling.”

                “I had guessed as much,” Optimus replied with a soft ex-vent. “I’m hardly much better. I hadn’t realized how late it had become or that you were even still here until the warning notification appeared on the screen.”

                Ratchet stared at the Prime, puzzled as to what he would be researching so diligently and why he had done it on the med bay computer. It took a few seconds longer than it should have, but eventually the events of the day came back.

                He was not sure if Optimus caught him in his lapse, so Ratchet scrambled to say something to cover up his faux pas.

                Any attempts were lost though when he felt something brush against his energy field. He jolted and instinctually drew it in flat against his armor. “What in Primus’ name--?”

                Optimus quickly removed his servo and shifted away, his expression twisted with confused guilt. “I’m sorry, Ratchet. I had thought – is that not alright?”

                Ratchet opened his mouth to respond, but found he had still had no words because his processor had come to a screeching halt at the thought that it had been _Optimus_. He tried to think of any reason he might have imagined what had happened; he had been dragged out of deep recharge, after all, so surely it had all been a glitch. He just needed a good defrag and these hallucinations would cease.

                But no. Optimus continued to stare at him, searching for an explanation.

And then the pieces finally clicked into place.

                “ _Oh_. Oh, ok, I see, it’s – it’s alright,” Ratchet managed, willing his frame to relax despite his spark pulse still racing. That did seem to put the Prime a bit more at ease though he still looked concerned. “The war changed a lot of customs, after all. I was surprised because, well, energy field communication is now essentially extinct outside of committed relationships.”

                Optimus’s optics cycled wide. “But—why? And how is that even possible?”

                “Field scrambler. It’s a program that was developed by a gladiator before the war and never became popular outside those circles until the Decepticon revolt. Once the war began, it quickly spread until all Autobots and Decepticons alike had in their catalogs. Here, I’ll show you,” Ratchet said when he saw that Optimus still looked disbelieving. It felt almost scandalous after all these years, but he allowed his field to spread out again and then further until it touched the very edge of Optimus’. The medic was emanating the carefully constructed cocktail of emotions he had perfected back when it was an integral part of his bedside manner: contentedness with a touch of concern.

                However, the years had weakened his ability to maintain it. When his old friend’s field eagerly accepted the invitation to intermingle and radiated a warm gratitude and comfort, Ratchet’s professionalism shattered.

                His embarrassment at being unable to control what he expressed bled out into his field in its place. Ratchet was flustered, shutting down every request from his frame to turn on his cooling fans.

                It was made all the worse by the fact that Optimus’s field felt so _nice_.

                “We don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable,” Optimus offered. “I’ll take your word by itself.”

                Ratchet shook his head, taking a moment to in-vent deeply before expelling some of the heat building in his frame. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just out of practice,” he insisted. It took a moment, but he managed to partially quiet the shame and instead send a ripple of reassurance.

                The medic shifted a bit to better face Optimus before he began. “As the name suggests, the field scrambler program doesn’t get rid of a bot’s energy field but simply scrambles it. So when I engage it--” it took only a moment to awaken the program, and with a final shutter his energy field went silent, “the field is left mute and deaf.”  

                Optimus was quiet, his optic ridges drawn in close as he seemed deep in thought. Ratchet could only assume he was using his field to press against his now scrambled one.

                “It’s static,” the Prime finally confirmed, and he sounded a bit saddened with the admission. “And you feel nothing?”

                “Nothing at all.”

                Optimus frowned.

                “Why would anyone use this programming?”

                “We have been at war,” Ratchet replied, his tone matter of fact. “While warriors can keep their fields hidden or blocked off during battle, it does still take up some of their processing power, however small. But it’s imperative that they not allow their opponent to know how they feel. And that extends to espionage and interrogation as well. Energy fields ended up being a weakness.”

                “So the rest of the team has it?”

                “Oh yes. I’m sure they all have had them since the day they were forged.”

                “But you did not have yours engaged.”

                “Medic protocols. Even though they’re rarely used anymore, energy fields are still a way for bots to let a medic know they need help. So I leave my field open outside of battle on the off chance someone wishes to reach out that way.”

                Optimus considered him carefully before asking, “If you don’t mind, when was the last time that happened?”

                “Honestly? I don’t remember. It was more common during the first parts of the war, but now…” Ratchet huffed as he searched his memory. “At least a few centuries.”

                Optimus’s frown deepened.

                “And for personal reasons?”

                “That – by the Allspark, that would have been a little over a million years now,” Ratchet replied with a disbelieving shake of his head. “What a mistake that was – Optimus?”

                The frown had given way to horror.

                “A million years. You went a million years without--” The Prime stopped himself, his servo moving to rub his face.

                And maybe it was because Ratchet could still clearly remember the warm feeling of comfort that radiated from the Prime when he opened his energy field to him; maybe it was because Optimus reminded him of himself when field scramblers had cut their entire species off from one another; maybe Ratchet simply missed Optimus’s field.

                Regardless of why, Ratchet deactivated his scrambler and reached his field out. This time Optimus momentarily resisted before allowing Ratchet back in.

                Optimus was exhausted. He was exhausted and overwhelmed and weary.

                “Everything has changed,” he said quietly. It was all he had to say. Ratchet could only imagine how it must have felt to learn that nearly everything Orion had once known had changed or been all together destroyed in his years as Optimus.

                At that moment, Ratchet remembered that in terms of life lived, the Optimus before him was younger than even Bumblebee. He was a young archivist who by circumstances beyond his control found himself crumpling under the weight that the former Optimus Prime had learned to carry over the span of four million years.

                Ratchet’s spark ached for him.

                “Optimus,” he started softly, reaching out to touch the Prime’s shoulder. “You’ve had a long day and a lot to process. You should recharge.”

                “There is still so much I don’t know though--”

                “The files will still be there tomorrow. Furthermore, the team and I will still be here.” Ratchet did his best to wash as much reassurance as he could through his field. “So go recharge. Doctor’s orders.”

                That managed to get a small glimmer of humor out of Optimus.

                “I thought I gave the orders around here.”

                “If your health’s at risk, I can override you,” Ratchet explained and patted the Prime’s arm, “so go to your berth before I pull rank as your CMO.”

                “Very well, my friend,” Optimus finally obliged and stood up. Ratchet was slower to get to his pedes, the pain in his back blooming as he straightened it out. “But Prime’s orders are that you return to recharge.”

                “Yeah, yeah,” the medic replied with a wave of his servo. “Now go. Unless you need something, I better not see you again for at least six hours.”

                With a nod, Optimus turned to leave. While Ratchet’s quarters were just off the medical bay, the Prime’s were at the other side of the base along with the rest of the teams’ quarters.

                Ratchet had to suppress a shiver when their fields separated again.

                He was at his own door when Optimus asked, “Ratchet, may I ask two last questions?” Ratchet turned his helm to find the Prime was at the edge where the command center met the medical bay, far enough away that while he could make out his basic features, the dimmed lights left the finer details indistinguishable. It was difficult to tell what expression Optimus had on his face.

                “Of course.”

                There was still a pause though before Optimus continued, “When did I download and start using the energy scrambler?” No doubt the Prime had quickly searched his banks to find the very program and already knew the implications.

                “A couple days after you became Prime.”

                Optimus’ optics dimmed, but that was all that Ratchet could make out from the distance.

                “I see. And when was the last time we communicated through our fields?”

                Ratchet’s spark burned in his chest and coolant raced to cool his systems. The miserable memory was quick to replay in the back of his processor. Ratchet ignored it though with an ease only ages of practice could produce. This was hardly the time to wallow in that mess.

                As he placed the memory in their timeline, however, another thought came to mind. Ratchet still did not know where Orion’s memories ended. It had to have been at least a few months before he had first become Prime, since he had not remembered Megatron’s betrayal. The number of months matter, though, because if it were several months before, Ratchet was in the clear. But if it had only been shortly before, then he would know what happened between them, would remember Ratchet’s confession and the aftermath—

                “Ratchet?”

                The medic was sure that while physically impossible, his spark was going to burst out of his chest with how hard it was pulsing. It took a moment to recall the question he had been asked.

                “36 days,” Ratchet blurted out before restarting his voice box. His cooling fans were threatening to turn on despite him dismissing their requests. “I mean, approximately, somewhere around 36 days after you became Prime.”

                It was silent. Optimus’s optics dimmed further before off-lining altogether. Finally, they glowed again.

                “I see. That’s all I needed to know. Good night, Ratchet.”

                Ratchet just nodded dumbly, watching the Prime turn and disappear into the base. Once gone, Ratchet yanked his door open and quickly shut it behind him so he was safe in his own quarters. He managed to get to his berth and all but fell onto it face first, burying it in his arms.

                His cooling fans clicked on and Ratchet groaned.

                How had it taken this long to realize the problem he could have on his hands? That the Orion Pax that the Matrix had left behind, the one who was now their Optimus Prime, would certainly have had no idea how it ended, but there was a strong possibility that he would remember how it started.

                That he would remember when Ratchet had mangled his confession of love for the archivist who by some stroke of luck returned his feelings.

                That he would remember that they had been lovers.

                “Scrap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Generally speaking chapters will be posted to my tumblr (roseymoseyberry.tumblr.com) before they're posted here, so feel free to hit me up there. I'm pretty excited to be back into writing fanfics again, and I hope anyone reading this enjoys this wild ride as much as I am.
> 
> Also I'm fudging some of the facts (for example, using closer to gen 1/IDW's timeline aka 4 million years instead of unspecified thousands), just a heads up.


	2. Chapter 2

                “I just don’t see how you can trust him. You know just as well as I do that the minute things don’t go his way, he’s gonna go running to those maniacs.”

                “No, I do not know that, because he won’t,” Orion insisted, his optics narrowing as he crossed his arms. "While our opinions don’t align perfectly, I believe that is why we would lead well together.”

                Ratchet rolled his optics up to the ceiling and shook his head. “Where your opinions ‘don’t align’ is the problem. That’s where the Decepticons are pulling their ideals from. You only need to take one look at them to see how Megatron will turn out.”

                “Megatron is not a Decepticon.”

                “Not _yet_ ,” Ratchet insisted despite how Orion’s frown only deepened. “But he has never officially disavowed them, and even he admitted it’s because they believe in some of the more radical statements he’s made--”

                “—Because he will use their belief in his words to bring them back to the right side.”

                “So he says, and _oh_ does that fragger have a way with words.” Indignation spiked in Orion’s field, but he did not speak up this time, instead waiting for Ratchet to finish his thought. No doubt so he could create a fuller rebuttal against it.

                Ratchet in-vented deeply, trying to cool his agitated spark. This was supposed to be a discussion, not an argument. But Primus, every time that piece of scrap came up, the medic could feel his fuel lines burn beneath his plating. “I know you needed someone to bounce ideas off of, to work with to get to this point, but you’re so close now.  You don’t need to attach yourself and your ideas to him and his. You’re better than that, and I don’t want to see you dragged down by him. I think you should continue to petition the High Counsel, but you should do it on your own.”

                Orion raised an optic ridge.

                “Are you finished?”

                “For now.”

                Orion nodded and took one step closer but otherwise did not change outwardly. There was a slowly simmering heat growing in his field though. “I do not appreciate you insinuating that I have been fooled by Megatron or his words.”

                “Orion, that’s not what I--”

                “—Furthermore,” he continued as if he had not even heard Ratchet’s objection, “I know you have never liked him and I have always respected your choice to not befriend him. You were at least courteous before, but more and more you have antagonized and vilified him--”

                “He asks me my opinion! Would it be more polite for me to lie to his face to stroke his massive ego?”

                “—And now you want me to believe that you know him better than I do, even though you have never given him a chance.” Orion was fuming, his field curling around as if to protect someone who was not there. “You may never allow yourself to trust him, but I have and I will continue to do so. I know him, Ratchet, almost as well as I know myself. It’s not that I believe I must lead with him, but that I wish to. He’s – he’s like a brother.”

                Ratchet’s spark felt hot enough to melt the casing around it. His servos were clenched so tightly that the hyper sensitive digits were sending pressure warnings. Years of bitterness finally started to spill out from his tight grasp.

                “Is he like a brother, Orion? Or do you mean a lover?”

                The roiling anger in Orion’s field instantaneously froze. A moment passed, the words hanging between them. Finally, the archivist’s expression went slack except for his optics that blew out wide, dumbstruck by the accusation.

                “What?” His voice was quiet, barely more than an ex-vent.

                Ratchet’s spark ached and he hated himself.

                “Just admit it,” he ground out, his chassis feeling as if it was constricting tighter with every word. His field curled in close to his frame, hiding away from Orion. “It’s been obvious from day one and I’m tired of dancing around it. So go on, admit it. You love him.”

                Orion’s arms dropped from where he had them crossed and his optic ridges furrowed. “I don’t understand--”

                “ _You love him_!”

                For a moment, Ratchet thought his spark had finally reached its limit and burst out of his chest. But no, his plating was intact, and his spark still pulsed painfully in its casing. Instead it had been his field that had all but exploded outward with the ugly truth.

                Ratchet was jealous.

                Regret was immediate and chilling. Ratchet desperately ripped his field inward until it was like a second coat of paint and his pedes took him back a few stumbling steps.

                It was too late.

                Realization had already dawned on Orion’s face. He knew. He had to know. How could he not when Ratchet had practically thrown it in his face?

                “I should go,” Ratchet blurted out, already shifting on his pedes to turn, trying to decide if his pride was worth it when every circuit in his processor screamed that he should just run. “I should definitely – scrap, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll leave--”

                “I’m not in love with Megatron.” While still quiet, Orion’s tone was firm and oddly warm. His field gently pressed against Ratchet’s withdrawn one, inviting without being insistent. His optics seemed to pin Ratchet to the spot, his pedes refusing to move when Orion started to step closer. “I may love him as a brother, but I promise you that I am not in love with him.”

                It was barely a drop of hope, but it managed to overwhelm Ratchet’s processor. If Orion was not in love with Megatron, than maybe—Primus, just maybe--

                “Good, because I am.”

                Orion’s optic ridges dropped, twisting in confusion and something that nearly looked like disappointment. “Oh. I – I believe I misunderstood then. I would not have guessed you felt that way about Megatron--”

                “What—no! Primus, no, nonono,” Ratchet found himself babbling, unthinkingly reaching out to grasp at Orion’s arm. “That’s not what I meant. I mean you. I am, for you – Scrap, I’ve completely fragged this up.”

                Orion’s servo settled on Ratchet’s.

                “So I didn’t misunderstand?”

                Ratchet’s spark skipped at the hopeful look on Orion’s face.

                “No, you got it right the first time. I’m just a complete malfunction.”

                “Good,” Orion said, optics bright and his field teeming with nervous energy, “because I have been as well.”

                “A malfunction or--”

                “In love with you.”

* * *

 

                A quick check told Ratchet he had barely slipped into recharge for twenty minutes before the memory started to play out in his processor. No doubt because he had thought of it before forcing himself to recharge, stopping it but forgetting the delete the process tree. Once his recharge reached the defrag cycle, it must have found the stalled memory file and triggered it to check for glitches.

                Regardless of why, the recollection had charged his systems, leaving him to online again with his cooling fans softly whirling and static sparking between armor plates when he moved.

                “Too old for this scrap,” he cursed quietly, brushing his hands down his frame to dispel some of the charge. The rest he left to dissipate over time. Ratchet was not about to go digging around in his seams over memories of that Primus forsaken confession. Shame was already bubbling up in his spark as it was.

                Ratchet considered forcing himself back into recharge again. As he did, he also quickly deleted the process tree since the last thing he needed was for the memory to pick back up where it left off. If his frame built up this much charge over just the confessions, he did _not_ want to know what recalling the rest of that night and into the next morning would do to him.

                But between his cooling fans, his racing spark, and his processor running wild, he knew there was no chance of relaxation until he at least started on a plan on how to deal with the situation. He was a scientist, after all. Ratchet had faced far more dangerous and deadly situations. Surely he could find a solution here as well.

                First things first: he needed more data to determine what Optimus remembered. To assist with that, he would have to figure out a timeline with important events plotted out so that once he found out what Optimus’s last memory was, he could accurately place it and then precede accordingly.

                Ratchet shut off his optics and pointedly ignored his pulsing spark. He would start from the moment Orion received the matrix and became Prime, then work backwards.

                54 days before Prime: The Decepticons, with Megatron in command, began their violent revolt.

                63 days before Prime: Megatron officially joined and started to lead the Decepticons.

                64 days before Prime: Megatron and Orion made their case to the High Council. Megatron’s plea to lead Cybertron by utilizing violence failed; Orion gave his much better speech about proper leadership to bring a peaceful but meaningful end to the inequality facing Cybertron and its citizens and was offered the position of Prime; Orion declined the responsibility for the time being, as Sentinel Zeta was still Prime; Megatron threw a fit; Megatron and Orion parted ways.

                This would mark the distinction between what they knew Optimus remembered and what he certainly did not. There is no feasible way that Orion would have believed Megatron so easily if he had remembered his betrayal. So the absolute latest memory he could remember would have been the day before Orion met with the High Council, 65 days before he became Prime.

                 74 days before Prime: Megatron and Orion received the news that the High Counsel would listen to their case in ten cycles’ time. They began preparations.

                112 days before Prime: Orion told Ratchet that he mentioned in conversation with Alpha Trion that he was seeing someone romantically. His mentor apparently did not react positively to the news, so when he began to ask after the identity of his partner, Orion excused himself quickly. They decided to continue to keep their relationship relatively private until Orion figured out how to approach the situation.

                “Not relevant,” Ratchet grumbled to himself, lazily moving his hand as if to whisk the point away. He needed to focus on non-relationship based events, since he was hardly about to just outright ask Optimus if he remembered their affair. It was quickly replaced with a speech Megatron gave at a rally (120 days before Prime) and Orion’s submission of a thesis he had worked on regarding the history of Cybertron that led to the current caste system and how it had been the incorrect decision (152 days before Prime).

                And then, finally, he made the most important event on the timeline, considering the purpose of the whole mental exercise.

                176 days before Prime: Ratchet made an absolute glitch of himself, but by some miracle Orion reciprocated his feelings and they entered into a romantic and sexual relationship.

                _Oh shut it_ , he thought to himself when his spark pulsed stronger and a new process tree started to build out from the memory file, intent on picking up where it had stopped. Four million years had been plenty enough time to get over a young fling. He would _not_ wallow in it now. Once the process tree was yet again deleted, he returned to his task.

                He had the tipping point of the timeline. He mapped out a six more events that covered the three months leading up to day 176, leaving him with a completed template. As long as the last of Orion’s memories were 177 days before Prime or more, Ratchet could rest easy knowing that while the Prime may harbor feelings, he was not likely to make a move since he would have never known Ratchet had ever felt similarly. Settling into his role as Prime would put an end those feelings within a month as it had before. No need to think about their ill-fated romance and certainly no need to discuss the end of it.

                213 days. It had only been 213 days out of over four million years that they had known each other. It was minuscule, barely a paragraph, _a sentence_ , in their story. Insignificant.

                Ratchet’s spark throbbed.

                213 days, but in those rare moments when he was honest with himself, Ratchet knew it had taken its toll. The worst of his sparkbreak only took a couple years to move past, but sentiments still lingered, becoming an irritating fact of life for Ratchet. The medic treated them as a glitch he had not figured out how to cure yet, something easily ignored the vast majority of the time and worked around when there was a flare up.

                This flare up put all others to shame though. It was overwhelming.

                Ratchet gritted his dentae.

                No. It would be fine. He had a plan.

                He could do this.

                It had only taken Optimus a month to settle into his role the first time, and in truth it may have been dragged out by their relationship to start with. It may only take a couple weeks this time. And once he did, Optimus’s feelings would fade and that would be the end of that.

                Ratchet could make it through without letting his own feelings win. 

* * *

 

                “What in Primus’s name is going on here?” Ratchet sputtered as he all but ran into the command center. The ground bridge whirred, Bumblebee already a couple steps in before he froze at the medic’s interruption. Bulkhead and Arcee were by the command console, glancing at each other before looking back at Ratchet. Optimus’s servos hung over the keyboard, but like the scout he also stilled for the moment.

                “::Optimus?::”

                The Prime looked nearly sheepish, his helm turned so his optics could dart between Bumblebee and Ratchet.

                “We’re burning energon here,” Arcee commented. Optimus turned to Bumblebee and nodded, and with that the scout aimed a shrug at Ratchet before disappearing through the bridge.

                “Where is he going?” Ratchet insisted, stomping his way over, “and why did no one think to wake me?”

                “Optimus said you needed rest,” Bulkhead said, rubbing the back of his helm nervously.

                “He’s one to talk.” It had only taken a second to bring up his chronometer and figure out the Prime would have only been in recharge for five hours at most. And that was assuming he immediately started when they had parted the night before and stayed in it until mere minutes before Ratchet was woken up by the roar of the ground bridge, which the medic highly doubted.

                Optimus ex-vented and his servos began typing again.

                “I’m sorry, Ratchet, but I felt it would be best to act as quickly as possible.”

                “Without me?”

                “With your back strut in its current condition, you need all the rest you can get,” Optimus explained. Ratchet’s plating pulled in tight in indignation.

                “You read my medical scans?”

                “Wait, what happened to your back--?”

                “It’s fine!” Ratchet snapped at Bulkhead before throwing up his servos in frustration. “Forget it, just – will someone please tell me what is going on?”

                Arcee and Bulkhead both looked to Optimus, clearly not wanting to get in the way of their irate medic. The Prime ex-vented before finally beginning.

                “While working under Megatron, I was given the task of decoding the Iacon database. I was told they had to find the coordinates so they could keep items that had been sent off world from Autobot servos. The importance of this was lost to me in all the chaos. But while recharging,” Optimus started before pausing, mouth drawn a little more tightly as he seemed to consider his words, “I realized that whatever they may be, they should not end up in Megatron’s servos. I did not finish the work while aboard his ship, but these are the three sets of coordinates I managed to find. Unfortunately, the Deceptions also have these coordinates, and that is why I decided that time was of the essence.”

                Ratchet could feel his anger slip away as his optics circled wide and he turned his helm to scan the screens. There was an open comm link to Bumblebee alongside a map with three sets of coordinates marked out on it, one of which now had Bumblebee’s marker next to it. On another window, Optimus was slowly setting the ground bridge for one of the other locations.

                “By the Allspark.”

                “Bee’s scouting out the first location now,” Arcee explained, clearly more at ease now that Ratchet’s ire had passed, “and Bulk and I will be checking out the other two.”

                “In and out before the Decepticons finish their morning energon!” Bulk added.

                Ratchet slid up next to Optimus to take over the ground bridge controls, since the Prime was doing alright, but his slowed typing gave away that he was figuring it out as he went along. He flinched slightly as he bumped his field into Optimus’, surprised to find that he had chosen to not engage the field scrambler now that he knew about it. However, Ratchet did not resist the easy mingling. Optimus’s field quickly pressed an apology to his own before settling into a gentle vibration of nervousness.

                This would feel like his first time leading a mission, Ratchet realized. He calmed his field, hoping it would settle the Prime’s jitters.

                “That assumes they haven’t already started to search,” Ratchet said as he set the ground bridge parameters.

                “::The cons are already here.::”

                Ratchet tilted his head as if to say ‘what’d I tell you?’

                “Does it look like they have found anything?” Optimus asked.

                “::No, they’re just talking. Starscream yelling at some drones and now he’s pointing at the ground. There’s nothing there, just flat ground.::”

                “It’s possible then that the item is buried,” Ratchet mused, pulling up a map of the location. Indeed, it did not look like there was much more than flat rocky earth. Either the item had already been removed or it was going to take time and effort to dig it out.

                “We don’t have the type of tools necessary to unbury it though, correct?” Optimus said, glancing at Ratchet and then the other two. Ratchet nodded in confirmation.

                Bulkhead scratched at his helm, adding, “Not really, but I could probably manage something if we had to. Or we could ask Fowler.”

                “Why bother if the Decepticons are already there,” Arcee said, leaning into one hip. “It’s not like they’ll leave it alone long enough for us to get to it, and they have better equipment than we could scrap together. So why don’t we let them dig it up, and _then_ we make our move.”

                “That’s highly risky,” Ratchet argued, “especially since we have no idea what’s buried down there. They’ll no doubt get their hands on it first, and it could scrap us all before we can even get close.”

                “Perhaps, but we don’t have any other viable option.” Optimus considered the screens in front of him, grimacing before turning to look at the rest of the team. “I doubt the Decepticons will leave it alone for any long period of time, if at all, so we would not have a chance to extract it. Even if we did, we do not have the resources currently to unearth it, and in the time it would take to gather them, I fear they would already have recovered it. So I agree,” he said, tilting his helm to Arcee, “I believe we should keep a close eye on them for the time being and make our move when they close in on the object.”

                Even without a field, pride practically emanated from Arcee as she grinned. Bulkhead smacked his fist into his open palm.

                “And then bam! We hit ‘em and grab the goods.”

                Ratchet scowled, crossing his arms indignantly. “It’s still very risky.”

                “Then we will take what precautions we can,” Optimus offered. His field wavered, still nervous, still trying to hide it. And physically he was doing a fine job. Ratchet doubted that Arcee or Bulkhead would have noticed his nervousness given the neutral expression he had fixed on his face.

                Ratchet ex-vented and shook his helm as he turned back to the computer screens. “Very well. If you want to wait, we’ll wait.”

                “::Should I stick around here then? Right now it just looks like they’re assessing the site.::”

                “Nothing else has changed?” Optimus asked.

                “::No, nothing—hold on.::” The base went silent as the team waited for Bumblebee to continue. Luckily it was not for more than a few seconds. “::Breakdown just bridged in with a mining drone.::”

                “No doubt to consult on digging the thing up,” Bulkhead grumbled, his mood souring at the mech’s name.

                “Keep an optic on the situation and comm us with any changes.”

                “::You got it, Optimus.::”

                Ratchet finalized the configurations of the ground bridge before engaging it, the vortex roaring to life. “Alright, who’s next?”

                The second and third locations were free of Decepticons. Ratchet could only assume that the Decepticons had not realized that Optimus would retain his memories of his time aboard the Nemesis. Their own team had not seen that eventuality, after all. It seemed that finally they had caught Megatron unaware.

                Arcee had difficulty, wandering around the forest at the coordinates. Her scanner confirmed the location, but there was nothing where she looked. It was only when Optimus asked Ratchet to bring up a map of the location that they realized there was a cave system below her pedes. It only took a few more minutes and careful directions before Arcee entered into the cave to find her prize.

                Bulkhead had his own problem, but it was one he had no difficulty handling himself. The item was encased in solid rock, and before Ratchet could advise him otherwise, the former wrecker had started to smash his club against it.

                “Be careful! We want whatever is in there in one piece!”

                “Don’t worry, Ratchet, I got it all under control. I can be delicate.”

                Not two minutes had passed before Bulkhead commed in again.

                “Yeah, I may have broken it.”

                “Bulkhead, we needed that!” Ratchet yelled, throwing his servos up even though the mech could not see him. A comforting ebb from Optimus’s field was all that kept the medic from going on a further tirade.

                “Can you tell what it is?” Optimus pressed. There was a pause, presumably Bulkhead assessing the rubble.

                When he did speak, his voice sounded uneasy. “Uh, I’m no expert, but it looks like it might be a spark extractor.”

                Optimus looked at Ratchet questioningly, his expression only growing all the more curious when he saw the brief look of horror on Ratchet’s face. The medic rebooted his voice box before explaining, “It was a Decepticon weapon of mass destruction that we managed to confiscate ages ago. It rips the sparks out of any and all bots within its radius, leaving only lifeless frames and sparks that quickly extinguish without their biomechanical support systems.”

                Optimus’s field trembled.

                “Then we did not need it after all,” Optimus managed, turning his attention back to the comm link. “Bulkhead, gather up all the pieces to bring back to base. Even if it is broken, we cannot risk any of its technology being replicated.”

                “Yeah, alright,” Bulkhead agreed hesitantly before adding, “Can I make sure it’s super broken first? I don’t want it to glitch and offline me.”

                “Of course.”

                “Now hold on,” Ratchet interrupted, staring up at Optimus, exasperated. His horror gave way at the thought of opportunity. “Even if it is broken, it may be intact enough that I could work with it. If he smashes it, it won’t only be unusable to the Decepticons, but it will be unusable to _us_.”

                There was definitely a thread of poorly disguised distaste growing in Optimus’s field, though he tried to keep his face neutral. “Ratchet, you can’t be serious.”

                “It _could_ be useful for crowd control.”

                “Yes, it could,” Ratchet said, waving a servo at the screen to further emphasize Bulkhead’s agreement. “With their drones, they _vastly_ outnumber us. A spark extractor is exactly what we need.”

                “You said yourself that it is a weapon of mass destruction. That it was created at all is terrible,” Optimus said, and Ratchet knew by his tone that there was now real anger and disgust bubbling beneath his cool expression. “I know that I do not yet fully understand the realities of this war, but I refuse to accept that we would allow ourselves to even consider using such a horror.”

                Ratchet could not help the roar of his engine as his spark burned in his chassis. “You’re right about one thing – you _don’t_ understand this war. I don’t think you even realize the gravity of situation we’re in! Ohh, you may know the facts, Optimus,” he said when the Prime tried to speak, raising his pointer digit as he stepped up closer to the Prime, “but you have yet to live it. So don’t you _dare_ look down on me for wanting to use every resource available to us to survive.”

                “You’re asking me to condone a weapon that could offline _dozens_ in mere moments.”

                “And _I_ have personally offlined more bots than I dare count. Likely thousands at this point. We all have – _you_ have.”

                That seemed to strike a chord in the Prime. He stared down at Ratchet, at his servos, a _medic’s_ servos that had ended lives, before turning his gaze down to his own servos. Optimus would have not retained any memories of any death he had caused – Orion had never had to resort to such actions. But his frame was still that of a warrior now, cannons and blades built into his arms, and they had seen more than their fair share of use. Even if he did not remember, he would know based on their existence alone. His field had drawn in tight, so Ratchet had no way of gauging Optimus’s reaction beyond the way he gripped his servos into tight fists and his optics dimmed.

                “You may be right, Ratchet.” Optimus ex-vented and loosened his grip, allowing his servos to fall open. “I do apologize for my judgement of your opinion. Perhaps in time I will better understand it. But for now, I still cannot accept it.”

                Frustration churned in Ratchet’s tank as he tried to continue arguing. It went unheard though as Optimus turned towards the comm link speaker.

                “Bulkhead?”

                “Yeah?” Bulkhead sounded wary, no doubt uncomfortable about his place in the argument.

                “Optimus, please reconsider--!”

                “I need you to destroy the spark extractor.”

                “You got it, Optimus.”

                Ratchet bit the inside of his cheek to keep his seething silent. It did not stop his vents from pouring heat off his frame, but Optimus did not comment. In truth, the Prime had also gone silent. Ratchet kept his field close to his frame, and never felt Optimus even try to reach out to it.

                When Bulkhead returned with the pieces of tech, Ratchet could see that it did indeed look as if it had once been a spark extractor. Now however it was in thousands of pieces and absolutely useless.

                Arcee at least returned with her tech intact – a force shield, so nothing for Optimus to object to. Once Bumblebee was brought back in to report, the three requested permission to test it out. The Prime had turned to Ratchet for his opinion, but the medic just grumbled “What do I know?” and switched to his alt form. His back struts complained but he ignored them.

                “If we’re done here, I’m going out.”

                Optimus frown deepened, but he nodded, and that was all Ratchet needed to shift gears and make his escape. 

* * *

 

                After a couple hours of racing around the empty desert and occasionally blaring his sirens to voice his anger, Ratchet finally came to a stop. His hydraulics eased, his chassis settling lower with a loud vent.

                Optimus had made the right choice. In truth, that was what had really gotten up Ratchet’s tailpipe about the whole thing, because he _knew_ Optimus had been right to destroy the thing. It was the right thing to do.

                But Optimus had been wrong about the depths they had sunk to. This was well within the realm of things they now did to survive, to _win_. Ratchet had no doubt in his mind that while the previous Optimus would have also wrestled with the decision, he would have made the  sensible choice and tried to see if the weapon was still useable. They would have avoided using it until necessary, but when the time came, Optimus would not have held back from using the spark extractor.

                It would not have been the right choice, but it was the reasonable choice.

                And for all that Autobots and Decepticons alike would talk about Optimus being unrealistic –  sticking to strict morals in the face of solutions – their previous Prime had let his initial ideals slide more than he had wanted. War rarely left them with the ability to make the right choices.

                But Optimus had forgotten that now. Now he had all those lofty ideals in his processor and he would no doubt cling to them.

                And Ratchet worried because, despite his frustration, he was actually happy to see it. While incredibly unrealistic and could get them all offlined, it was so rare to see such compassion.

                Regardless, the medic knew that the team would have to keep their optics on Optimus in the upcoming battles. Even if he had his skills still, there was no knowing if he would put them to full use for fear of offlining another bot.

                It seemed that whether or not Optimus remembered their fling was not the only problem he faced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the previous chapter's notes, I am fudging some things, mostly with the pre-war stuff, but I did also swap the locations of the spark extractor and the forge. I couldn't very well let team prime get their hands on it super easily.
> 
> But also I wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for the hugely positive response! I super appreciate it and I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this fic.


	3. Chapter 3

                “Orion!” Ratchet shouted, beaming with pride as his lover pushed past the heavy doors of the Council chamber. The medic rushed forward, wanting to pull Orion down so he could kiss his face, but settled for grasping his arm warmly. Alpha Trion would be around, would no doubt want to take a moment to find his pupil and praise him for his speech, and the last thing Orion needed to rain on his triumph was for their relationship to be discovered.

                “That was incredible! I knew you would do great, of course, but I can’t believe they offered you Primehood – and you turned it down! Too fraggin’ modest for your own good--”

                Orion smiled down at him, but it was weak, and one brush against his field revealed he was decidedly unhappy.

                Ratchet stopped short before huffing, his own smile waning. “—and of course you’re worried about him.”

                “I’m sorry, but I need to speak with him.”

                “I know.” Ratchet had never really liked Megatron, but never in a million years would he have guessed he would go so far off the rails in front of the Council or Orion, and certainly not so suddenly. He pointed down the main hall, saying “I was still up in the balcony when he stormed out, but I think it’s safe to assume he went down the main hall. If we hurry, we might be able to catch up with him.”

                “Thank you, Ratchet.” He reached his servo across his chest to briefly squeeze Ratchet’s. “Then we should go--”

                Ratchet’s spark felt like it missed a beat as he noticed Alpha Trion approaching from the Council chambers. Orion must have sensed the vague panic in Ratchet’s field, quickly removing his hand as Ratchet did the same. “Alpha Trion?”

                “Yep.”

                “Distract him.”

                “What – Orion?” Ratchet managed before the archivist quickly moved around him and started to walk briskly down the hallway. The panic only started to rise as he opened their private comm and hissed across it, ::Don’t you dare leave me alone with him!::

                ::Tell him I’m sorry and we will talk later, but I must find Megatron.::

                ::How about you say sorry to me!::

                “Ratchet?” The medic froze for a moment, praying to Primus he did not slag this up, before turning to face Alpha Trion himself. While Ratchet had known about Alpha Trion long before he met Orion, he had never expected to come face-to-face with the legendary mech. As it was, they had only seen each other a handful of times through Orion, and rarely exchanged more than pleasantries before they parted ways.

                Honestly, it had always been thrilling and a little bit terrifying to speak with _the_ Alpha Trion. Ratchet had nothing but utmost respect for him.

                Now that he was secretly dating his favorite pupil, however, it was just terrifying.

                “Alpha Trion, it’s an honor as always,” Ratchet greeted, generating the most pleasant of fields, hoping beyond hope he gave nothing away.

                Alpha Trion smiled kindly, nodding his head at the greeting. “I take it that Orion has gone chasing after his companion?”

                Ratchet opened his mouth, the last minute excuse he had come up with stalling in his voice box upon realizing that the older mech had already deduced the truth. He closed his mouth, rebooting his voice box, and nodded. “I’m afraid so. He wanted me to pass along his apology.”

                “It’s quite alright. I had my suspicions this would happen.” There was an enigmatic quality to his expression that Ratchet could not quite parse out.

                “I think everyone except Orion did, but not… not like this.” Ratchet could not help the frown that pulled his lips down from his fake smile. He struggled for a moment, trying to decide whether to voice his feelings or not, but when Alpha Trion simply waited, the medic released a long ex-vent. As intimidating as the idea of Alpha Trion was, when in his presence it was hard to not feel at ease. “He’s so trusting, so big-sparked. Maybe too big-sparked. Even though I figured Megatron would never live up to how Orion saw him, I had honestly hoped that I would be wrong. For Orion’s sake.”

                Alpha Trion nodded, but otherwise did not respond right away. Instead, the older mech considered him carefully. It honestly seemed as if his optics were bright enough to see straight through to Ratchet’s very spark, plucking his secrets from the source.

                Finally, Alpha Trion gave him a smile.

                “I see now. I’m glad it is you and not him.”

                Ratchet tilted his helm ever so slightly, letting the words roll around his processor. When realization hit, it hit all at once: Alpha Trion had thought Orion had started dating Megatron and now he knew it was in fact Ratchet that the data clerk had chosen and he was _happy_ about it.

                He had to look away for a moment as he gathered his wits, his spark pulsing rapidly in his chest and a grin splitting his face.

                “T-thank you.”

                Alpha Trion reached out, his digits lightly resting on Ratchet’s shoulder, and his smile did not leave but it did take on a sad twist. “I wish you the best,” he said, sounding almost like condolence. Ratchet’s optic ridges creased, but before he could ask for clarification, the older mech continued, “Now go. I believe he will need you.”

                Ratchet turned his helm to look at the hallway he had sent Orion down, but the mech was already long gone. “I don’t know if I could even _find_ him, and I doubt he will answer a private comm if he has found Megatron.” He knew Orion well enough to know that he would likely keep Ratchet in the dark, worried that the medic would only escalate the situation, which was not entirely inaccurate. Ratchet did want to throttle the former gladiator, or at the very least give him a piece of his processor. Nevertheless, he opened their comm link. ::Where are you? Did you find him?::

                “I have every confidence in you, Ratchet.”

                “Not your wisest choice,” he replied with a soft ex-vent. Alpha Trion chuckled good-naturedly, but did not respond right away, as if waiting—

                ::Down the main hall and then down a side hallway on the right side.::

                Ratchet’s optics widened and Alpha Trion quirked one of his optic ridges.

                “I take it that’s Orion.” Ratchet nodded.

                ::Could you be more specific? There’s a scrap load of hallways in this building.::

                ::You’ll know.::

                ::That’s ominous.::

                There was a beat before finally Orion replied, ::He’s yelling pretty loudly.::

                With gritted dentae, Ratchet managed a terse “Excuse me” – Alpha Trion had simply tilted his helm in recognition – before turning and dashing down the hallway. It took all his self-control to keep from shifting into his alt mode to gain greater speed.

                ::He hasn’t hurt you, has he?:: For the first few hallways Ratchet came across, he would slow and dial his audial up, trying to catch any hint of Megatron’s voice.

                ::No, of course not, he wouldn’t—no. He’s just –:: A ways down the main hallway, Ratchet spotted a small crowd gathered, glancing down a side hall and whispering among themselves. If Megatron was making a glitchhead of himself, he would certainly gather a crowd. ::I have never seen him like this.::

                Despite his words, Ratchet could hear the concern in Orion’s voice.

                Ratchet was outright sprinting now, shoving bots out of his way as he skidded to make the turn. As he took in the view of the side hall, he was also hit with the blaring echoes of Megatron’s tirade. He looked every bit like the savage gladiator Megatronus of the Pits of Kaon, plating flared out to make his towering frame all the more intimidating, dentae bared in a snarl. While Orion was far from a short bot, he was nearly completely eclipsed where Megatron had him cornered, his face only visible when Megatron threw his arm out to emphasize a point.

                If Orion had had a part in the conversation, that time had long passed, as the archivist simply stood there, lips pressed tight together, his expression otherwise neutral.

                Ratchet’s engine shifted into high gear as he stalked down hall. While Megatron had not moved past yelling yet, the medic refused to give him the benefit of the doubt as Orion had. Megatron absolutely could resort to violence and at this rate Ratchet suspected he would.

                Orion managed to catch sight of Ratchet, locking optics, and Ratchet’s systems flooded with anger when he saw the anxiety there. His lover must have seen that, realized how explosive the situation could become, because he commed a quick ::Please, wait:: to Ratchet as he turned to address Megatron.

                “Please, I would like to leave,” he said, keeping his tone even. However, Megatron seemed to ignore him, turning his helm to spot Ratchet. An almost cruel smirk pulled at his lips.

                “So, finally called your guard dog, hm? Do I scare you, _Prime_.” The guise of humor gave way to sheer bitterness and jealousy. Whatever Orion said in response was drowned out by a loud rev of Megatron’s massive engine.

                “ _Get melted_ ,” Ratchet spat, moving right up beside Megatron to reach out and grasp Orion’s arm, all the while glowering at the massive mech. While his systems were more than prepped to start a fight, he did not dare with the archivist all but pined by the raging gladiator. As well, his logic processes were finally making themselves known – he would not come out of a physical fight with Megatron in one piece. “Come on, Orion. Alpha Trion wanted to speak with you--”

                Megatron slammed his fist against the wall between them, fully trapping Orion between his frame and the wall.

                “ _We’re not finished yet_!”

                “Megatron!” Orion finally shouted. Once he had Megatron’s attention again, he continued more quietly, although his tone was firm. “I understand you’re frustrated, angry even, but so am I. I did not recognize you in there, Megatron, and I certainly don’t now. I want to understand what’s wrong--”

                “What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that you did not trust me, instead choosing to betray me and steal my rightful position as Prime!”

                “I never asked for it, and turned down their offer--”

                “Because you are a _coward_ , Pax, incapable of handling what must be done!”

                “Do you mean violence? You truly believe that violence is the solution?”

                “It would certainly put a quick end to one of my problems right now,” Metatron growled as he leaned down closer, the fist separating Orion from Ratchet moving to loosely encircle the archivist’s neck. Orion’s eyes grew wide and bright with genuine fear.

                And then Ratchet was moving, his processor be damned.

                He hooked an arm under and around Megatron’s upper arm, bracing it as he shoved his other servo into the delicate inside of his elbow joint. It only took half a second to find the motornet wiring and yank. The charge that raced along his sensornet let him know that he had succeeded in at least tearing the casing, disrupting the flow to Megatron’s hydraulics. The effect was immediate; Megatron’s forearm jolted before going completely limp, dropping from Orion’s neck to hang useless from where it joined his upper arm.

                The gladiator roared his outrage, throwing his shoulder back to try to dislodge Ratchet from his hold. Instead, the medic managed to brace his feet and combined the momentum with the strength his medic build granted him to haul Megatron towards him and away from Orion.

                Fury burned in Megatron’s optics when he caught his footing and faced Ratchet fully.

                “Guard dogs should be kept on tighter leashes,” he hissed as he raised his functioning arm. Ratchet released his hold, hoping to bring his arms up in defense, but Megatron was faster.

                The gladiator’s backhand felt more like getting hit by a truck, causing Ratchet’s HUD to light up with warnings as it fritzed and sputtered. He could barely make out the shrill screech of his plating scraping on the floor as he slid across it above the ringing in his audials. The gyros in his helm had completely destabilized, leaving Ratchet feeling like he was spinning as he laid there.

                Ratchet had been in his share of fist fights, but never had a single hit left him so helpless. And by Primus did he _hurt_.

                He could not stop his processor as it forced a reboot to recalibrate his systems.

                Powering up was slow and foggy, some systems coming back up one by one while others had clearly suffered physical damage that he would have to have treated soon. The first sense to come on was his field.

                If it were possible, Ratchet would have flinched at the sheer outrage that rippled and burned from a field nearby. He weakly tried to pull his own field away, but the source was too close to escape. His sensornet booted up next, letting him know he was only partially on the cold ground, his upper body now held by something solid and warm and vibrating against his plating.

                Audials next; there was shouting, and some of it was still Megatron, but most of it was coming from just above him, the voice familiar but not like this, not _yelling._

                Finally his optics onlined to find Orion cradling him in his arms, holding him incredibly tight, his optics staring straight ahead down the hall, his expression twisted with more emotions than Ratchet was capable of picking apart.

                “We aren’t done here --!”

                “Yes, we are!” The Orion shouted over him, his tone final. “We are _done_ , Megatron!”

* * *

                 His audials picked up the sound of the two-wheeler’s engine before Ratchet caught sight of her. For a moment he considered driving out to meet her, but he was comfortable, having found a small ledge at the base of a cliff, granting him a place to sit in the shade.

                Arcee did not seem to mind though when she rolled up and shifted into her root form. In fact, she simply stared up at him and held out her hand, waiting until with a bemused huff Ratchet reached down to help her up.

                “Optimus send you?”

                “I brought it up,” she said with a shrug, settling down to sit cross-legged next to Ratchet. “He was pretty quick to approve it though.” When the medic did not respond, Arcee let out a long ex-vent, warm air from her drive escaping. “I heard about what happened. I guess Optimus really has gone soft then?”

                “I—” Ratchet started before shaking his head. “No, not soft. He’s just reverted to a time when he was more… idealistic.”

                “Right. Idealistic, also known as soft,” Arcee said, smirking slightly when Ratchet rolled his optics. It slid away though as she leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze. “You know I respect Optimus, and obviously I’m glad we got him back, but—is this going to be a problem?”

                Ratchet leaned back on his servos, turning his helm to look at Arcee. “Assuming history repeats itself, no. It’ll just take time and experience.”

                “Time isn’t always a commodity we have.”

                “No, it isn’t. But we’ll have to make do with what we have.” Ratchet considered the femme seriously before adding, “It would be wise though for you and the others to keep an optic on him in the field, at least for a while.”

                “That was already my plan,” Arcee replied, although her frown did not lift. “You sure he’ll be up to it though? Four million years of memory loss isn’t really something to take lightly.”

                “I’m not taking it lightly. But I—I believe in him,” Ratchet admitted, looking away to instead stare out at the desert. “I did the first time around, and I’m not going to stop now.”

                When Arcee ex-vented, it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, and a glance confirmed that she was smiling.

                “What?”

                “Oh, nothing,” Arcee insisted, leaning back and untangling her legs so she could lay down, arms crossed behind her head. “I just think it’s cute that no matter how angry you get with him, you always come back around.”

                Ratchet spluttered indignantly, finally managing to say, “Of all the ridiculous –!”

                “I’d go so far as to say it’s sweet.”

                Even as he bristled, the way that Arcee’s smile only grew at his reaction made him realize her scheme. His arguments deflated and he just shook his head. “If Optimus sent you to rile me up until I forget about the spark extractor, then I don’t think either of us have to worry about him going soft.”

                Arcee shifted so she could raise her servo, waving it as she said, “I brought it up, remember? My plan.”

                “Either way, you’ve failed. You’ll have to do better than that to redirect _my_ ire.”

                “Is that a challenge?” Ratchet was suddenly wary as she sat up abruptly. He should have known better than to bring out Arcee’s competitive side, but it was hard not to when it was a trait they shared. Worse yet, his damned pride refused to let him back down.

                “Perhaps.”

                “I _was_ going to let this slide, but if you insist,” she said, as if in warning as she waited a couple seconds. Ratchet could feel his plating starting to itch, but he kept his mouth shut. Arcee shrugged before continuing, “Alright. Then why don’t you tell me who you were fragging a million years ago?”

                Ratchet would swear his spark went cold for a second as he stared at her, his processor racing because _how could she possibly know about that_? Arcee just quirked one of her own optic ridges, patiently waiting, and the medic scoured his memory banks because he had never talked about that series of events since then, had never even referenced it, except—

                Except very vaguely and in passing with Optimus, when he had asked about the last time he had used his field for personal reasons. Ratchet had not meant to admit to it, but luckily it seemed to go over Optimus’s helm, likely since he was not used to how the culture around field communication had changed, but anyone else would have caught it. But they had been alone—

                Ratchet’s optics narrowed in displeasure.

                “You were eavesdropping on us last night.”

                “No,” Arcee started, raising a digit as she defended herself, “I was on command center duty. It’s not my fault that the med bay is just around the corner and things echo.”

                “That conversation was none of your business!”

                “And I did my best to not listen in. But it’s hard to ignore when the Chief Medical Officer and the Prime are caressing each other’s fields and talking about it within audial range.”

                “It wasn’t like that!” Ratchet insisted, completely flustered as his cooling fans kicked in to his further embarrassment. Arcee however was at ease, stretching her arms out above her helm.

                “Yeah, yeah, I know. A different time, different standards, all that. Totally innocent. The point though,” she said, her grin nearly splitting her face, “is that I win.”

                Ratchet stared at her, his jaw slack, before his face twisted and he crossed his arms with a growl of his engine. Despite himself though, he could feel his systems begin to relax since the topic had been dropped. “I can’t believe I encouraged this behavior in you.”

                “No one to blame but yourself,” Arcee agreed as she got to her pedes. Ratchet watched as she dropped from the ledge, transforming mid-air into her alt-mode. Before he had a chance to question it, she said, “Now come on, if we don’t hurry, we’ll be late picking up the kids.”

                “ _We_?”

                “I left base early so I could grab you on the way. The others are busy, and I’m not carrying all three.”

                Ratchet grumbled but got up, brushing the dust from his plating even though he knew it was pointless. He jumped down and transformed, resigned to the chore.

                “What exactly is so important that I have to pick up their slack?”

* * *

                 “This is the best. Day. _Ever_!!” Miko shrieked, her balled up fists now thrown up in the air as she seemed to nearly vibrate out of her human skin. She was hardly the only one – Jack was grinning just as wide, and even Rafael seemed eager.

                If there was one thing that always got the human children out from under Ratchet’s pedes, it was the opportunity to watch the warriors spar.

                Ratchet ex-vented with humor, though he was not sure he could really fault them.

                The medic had not sparred much over the last decade. He had always preferred to spar with other non-warrior types since most warriors would make more of a fuss about the fact that Ratchet was ‘just’ a medic than he cared to put up with. This worked out just fine when he was part of a crew, but ever since they had been reduced to such a small team, Ratchet’s pool of potential sparring partners dried up and he let the pastime drop. On the very rare occasions he had felt the need, he would ask Optimus, since his old friend knew better than to underestimate him.

                Ratchet had not even considered sparring since his unfortunate Synth-En escapade.

                So, the medic did not join the sparring sessions, and only when he was truly bored would he go to watch.

                But every time he did, Ratchet would wonder why he did not come more often. It was exhilarating even to just observe.

                Bumblebee was throwing punches and the occasional kick at Optimus, his barrage seemingly unending while the Prime did not fight back, instead only reacting with blocks and dodges. Bulk stood at the sidelines, occasionally yelling out advice about when to block or dodge, and how. Optimus was completely absorbed in the exercise, ridges furrowed and optics narrowed in concentration.

                Arcee had told Ratchet that when they had tested the new shield by, of course, sparring while using it, it very quickly became clear that while Optimus had managed to maintain his fighting instincts, he did not know yet how to use them purposefully. His moves were purely reactionary, often slowed by his own unease with the motions that his body knew but he did not remember learning. While it was better than nothing, it was a steep drop from his previous skills.

                So the three of them had taken it upon themselves to practice with Optimus. They had figured that if they told and showed him what it was he knew, and gave him a chance to practice and become comfortable with the motions, that in time he would be able to start putting them together again like before.

                Plus, Arcee had admitted, it was a great way to get Optimus’s processor off his argument with Ratchet.

                Honestly, Ratchet had felt some pride well up for the younger Autobots. It was a sound idea. And watching the results of only a couple hours was proof of concept – Optimus did stumble once, and Bumblebee had to pull a couple of his punches, but otherwise the Prime moved with an easy flow.

                “Looking good!” Arcee called out, smiling as she leaned over to Ratchet. “Should have seen him when I left to get you. It was like watching a new forge run for the first time.”

                “Don’t listen to her, boss!” The femme just snickered at the look Bulkhead gave her.

                Both of them missed the moment that Optimus glanced over, finally aware of the new audience, and caught Ratchet watching him. His optics brightened, his whole face shifting from deep concentration to something almost akin to relief.

                Unfortunately, that meant Optimus was not paying attention to the fact that Bumblebee was coming out of a spin, pede aimed at his helm.

                “Watch out--!”

                Optimus’s arm shot out suddenly, but instead of blocking he grabbed the scout’s ankle and pulled while letting his own body fall back and away. Bumblebee let out a shout as his arms flailed, but the pede still on the ground skidded and wobbled, unable to regain his balance. Left with no other option, Bumblebee reached out towards the ground to catch himself as he crashed to the floor.

                Miko let out a hoot, unconcerned with how her guardian took in a quick vent and stepped up to the two. Optimus was already apologizing, helping Bumblebee back up and making sure he was not injured.

                Arcee had not exaggerated about Optimus not having very good control over his battle instincts.

                With an exasperated ex-vent, Ratchet walked over as well. “Alright, enough of that,” he said, hands braced on his hips as he quickly assessed Bumblebee. The scout would be fine – it looked like he had just scraped his paint a bit, nothing more than the smallest amount of cosmetic damage. “You’re fine. You, however,” he continued, looking at Optimus pointedly, “are coming to the med bay with me.”

                Optimus’s field wavered with confusion, his optic ridges drawn in tightly, until Ratchet tilted his helm towards the Prime’s shoulder. It only took a glance to see the problem – a Decepticon shield still gleamed where it did _not_ belong.

                “I won’t hear any arguments this time.”

                It seemed the medic did not have to worry though, as Optimus nodded. “Of course, Ratchet.”

                “Aww, but we just got here!” Miko whined from where the children still stood at the sidelines. Ratchet could not keep from rolling his optics.

                “That hardly seems like my problem,” he replied as he followed Optimus out of the sparring room. The Prime did stop for a moment though next to Arcee where she was leaned against the door frame.

                “You’re more than welcome to continue without me.”

                Arcee nodded before pushing off the wall, smirking. “I was hoping to get a couple rounds in.”

                The children’s cheers were muffled by the base’s walls as Ratchet and Optimus headed down the hall. 

* * *

                 “Ratchet?”

                The medic hummed in response, the laser tool held carefully between his dentae as he yanked on the anchor still embedded in Optimus’s shoulder plating. The shield itself had been easy to remove, but Ratchet had removed a few Decepticon shields over the years and learned from the experiences that the hardest part was the damned anchors. It was not enough that the Decepticons altered their biochemical processes to produce the red glow to their eyes, but their shields each had an anchor that pierced into the plating. No doubt Megatron had some convoluted reasoning behind it, about dedication to the cause or some other rubbish, but at the end of the day they were a pain in the aft to remove.

                Ratchet had told himself that that was why he had yet to break the awkward silence between them. He was just deep in concentration. That was all.

                “I know I have already done so, but I wish to apologize again.”

                Ratchet finally looked away from his task to catch Optimus’s gaze. Even his field radiated regret. The medic reached up to remove the tool from his mouth and gingerly placed it on the tool bench he had pulled up next to the berth.

                “I hate to admit it, but it was the _right_ thing to do,” he replied, turning his optics back to the anchor. Ratchet had expected that that would put the Prime at ease, but his field was still bundled up.

                “No, not for that,” Optimus said. “I do not regret my decision. But I do regret my reaction to your position. I spoke with the others after you left, and while they were hesitant to speak out against my choice, each of them admitted to agreeing with you.” He took in a slow, deep vent before releasing it with a huff. “Even with the facts I have gathered, I have still deeply underestimated the effect this war has had.”

                The anchor finally popped out. Ratchet put it down next to the removed shield – both, along with their twins on Optimus’s other shoulder, would be melted down once they were done.

                “You can’t blame yourself for that. It’s not something that can be explained,” Ratchet admitted as he shifted his arm into a welder. He would have to patch the hole the anchor had caused as well as any other imperfections created by the process of removing the shield before he could weld on the Autobot one. “Besides, perhaps that’s what we’ve needed around here. Some of that pre-war compassion.”

                Optimus’s servo caught Ratchet’s wrist before he could get to work welding. His optics were narrowed, serious.

                “You have compassion, Ratchet. I should have never made you feel as if I doubted that.”

                Ratchet’s spark pulsed harshly.

                “It _has_ been a long time, you know. Things change.”

                “I’ve noticed,” Optimus said, and despite himself a small smile graced his face. “I haven’t heard you swear once yet.”

                That startled a laugh out of Ratchet before he could stop it. Optimus’s field warmed at the sound and the medic knew his was warming in return.

                “Some of us try to appear professional when on duty,” he insisted, shaking his head in amusement. “Just so happens that being your CMO means I’m almost always on duty, so I had to clean up my act.”

                “And if I told you to consider this time off duty?”

                Ratchet could not help a smirk as he tugged his wrist in Optimus’s hold slightly, remarking, “I’d call you a slagger who needs to shut up and let me fix your fragging shoulder already.”

                Optimus chuckled, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle against the inside of Ratchet’s wrist before releasing him. The medic could only hope that Optimus missed the way it had made his frame shudder slightly.

                “See?” Optimus said, settling his servo in his lap. “I suspect that you will continue to surprise me with what has changed, but at least I’ll know that at your core, you’re still my dear Ratchet.”

                Ratchet had to reign in his field as it felt like his spark was singing and his whole frame was filled to bursting with affection. It had to be spilling out though, or perhaps it showed on his face – Optimus was beaming at him, his optics bright, knowing.

                “Stop that,” Ratchet insisted, rebooting his optics and shaking his helm briefly before refocusing on his task. The welder sparked to life and the medic went to work. “Arcee was right, I’m far too lenient with you.” When Optimus did not reply, Ratchet glanced up to see the Prime still smiling, his field rolling with soft waves of satisfaction. Ratchet fought down another rush of sentiment, instead reaching out with his free servo, none-too-gently shoving at the side of Optimus’s helm, trying to turn the Prime’s face away from him. “Would you stop that? Primus, you smug fragger--”

                Optimus laughed. Not an amused ex-vent, not a chuckle, but a full laugh, something Ratchet had thought he would never hear again.

                By the Allspark. It would have been so easy to turn his servo, to cup instead of shove, to lean down and catch those lovely noises with his lips—

                Ratchet stopped the thought in its tracks, shame washing over him in a cold wave. Instead he gave one last shove and a roll of his optics before returning to welding.

                “Arcee also said you were testing the force shield earlier?”

                “We were,” Optimus replied, no doubt aware that Ratchet was desperately trying to change the topic considering it was a terribly clumsy attempt. Nevertheless he started to describe the relic, which eventually led to him asking clarifying questions about the various topics he had read up on, and ultimately the two settled into easy conversation.

                Soon enough, Optimus proudly wore the Autobot shield again. 

* * *

                 Over the next couple days, the team kept a close eye on the Decepticon site, sending one of the warriors to scout it out a few times a day. It was the primary concern, after all – considering they had discovered a force shield and the spark extractor, there was no knowing what the Decepticons were about to unearth. All they knew was that it could not remain in their servos.

                Somehow though, it became secondary to settling into the rhythm of their new situation as a team.

                The sparring sessions had become a daily occurrence as Optimus eventually moved on from defensive moves to basic servo-to-servo combat. Ratchet was unsure if it was this shift of roles as the warriors found themselves teachers to their Prime, or simply because of Optimus’s much more casual interactions with them, or the combination of both, but regardless, it was affecting the team dynamics.

                The vast majority of the time, it seemed as if Optimus was becoming part of the team instead of leading it.

                When Optimus was not sparring or reading through his war entries, he was often found socializing. Sometimes he would wander into the med bay, asking if Ratchet needed any assistance, and would stay to chat until eventually the medic had to shoo him away to get work done. Other times Ratchet would be working in the command center and watch as Optimus struck up conversations with the others.

                He had asked Bulkhead about the Wreckers, listening intently to the stories that Miko demanded Bulkhead tell him, discussing their relationship to the rest of the Autobots, and even about the mech’s decision to leave them to join Team Prime. Arcee he asked about her time doing espionage, and if Ratchet had to guess from the way their conversation eventually grew quieter, barely more than whispers, they ended up discussing her previous partners as well. And Bumblebee initiated a conversation before Optimus got the chance, which Ratchet suspected was because he was jealous of the other two getting attention from the Prime. They ended up swapping stories about the first couple decades of their lives after being forged, comparing what it was like growing up before and after the start of the war.

                Ratchet had felt poorly for eavesdropping, especially when it had been for naught – all of Optimus’s stories were from long before their affair, and many even before they had met at all. Nothing that could indicate where his memories ended.

                It had at least been amusing when Optimus mentioned how odd he found the whole field scrambler business. Bumblebee had been absolutely scandalized by the knowledge that the Prime had not engaged the program when he had learned about it, that it was just out all the time!

                Or it had been amusing until Arcee and Bulkhead had gathered around to join them, and in the discussion Optimus mentioned that Ratchet also had his scrambler disengaged outside of battle. Apparently Bulkhead and Bumblebee had had no idea as they rounded on him and asked if it was true, shocked.

                Arcee had just smirked at him as Ratchet was forced to explain the finer details of pre-war field communication culture and his duties as a medic.

                It was not even just the other bots. Ratchet had thought he was glitching when he stumbled in on Optimus listening with interest as the children explained whatever nonsense television show they were watching, his optics curious as he considered the small screen. Even when meeting with Fowler to discuss the current situation with the Decepticon site, the Prime had asked about how the agent’s day had been and genuinely wanted to know.

                Honestly, Ratchet had become concerned about Optimus maintaining his role as a leader. The Prime had always been kind and polite, but early on he had had to develop a strict professionalism and distantness that kept bots from thinking of him as someone they could befriend for personal gain or favors.

                That concern always disappeared though when they would gather to discuss the progress of the Decepticon dig site. Optimus would still ask questions for clarification, and listened to the opinions of the team, but ultimately he would make the decision. Any disagreements after that would be kindly but resolutely dismissed.

                Even though the warriors spoke with him more casually now, they still seemed more or less content to obey orders. And for all that Ratchet worried, he knew how stubborn Optimus could be – their own argument had been proof of that.

                It was different, but Ratchet was beginning to think that different was kind of nice. 

* * *

                 “::Hey, guys? They just pulled out a precision drill.::”

                Ratchet’s helm snapped up from where he had been tinkering with their energon processor. A precision drill meant they were close to their target. Optimus was already at the command center computers, his digits quick on the keyboard.

                “Bulkhead, prepare to depart,” he said before turning to Arcee. “And Arcee, prepare to drop in if the situation calls for it.”

                “You got it.”

                “And Ratchet?”

                The medic waved a servo as he stepped up to the console, handing Optimus the small microphone he had built for the mission. “I’ll be listening in,” he said before the Prime could, “and if it sounds like Arcee can slip in and grab the item, I’ll drop her in.”

                Optimus nodded, and after a second his field – which had started to vibrate with nervous energy – receded, no doubt to only spit static. His face twisted for a moment, clearly unused to the scrambler. A necessary evil as he had put it when Ratchet had warned him he would have to engage the scrambler before heading into missions. The microphone was tucked away under the edge of Optimus’s windshields.

                “Then let’s roll out,” he said to Bulkhead. Ratchet pulled on the ground bridge’s switch, allowing the warriors to walk through to join Bumblebee.

                “Do you think he’s ready?” Ratchet asked quietly once the bridge was closed. Arcee looked up at him, a single optic ridge raised, before turning her attention back to the screen.

                “Don’t you believe in him, Ratchet?”

                “I do, but reassurance is always appreciated.”

                “He’s a fast learner,” Arcee started, arms crossed. “And even if he does have to resort to his battle instincts, those will be more than enough to handle Megatron’s lackeys.”

                Ratchet nodded and with that the two went silent, listening carefully. 

* * *

                 “Megatron! Stand down and step away from the item.”

                “Ah, Optimus. It only seems right that you be here for the reveal, considering it is you I have to thank for guiding me here. Or, should I say I have Orion Pax to thank?”

                “I will not repeat myself further. Stand down.”

                “You really should have left your Decepticon shield intact, for you have no idea how useful your code-breaking skills proved to be during our all-too-brief time together. To think you led me straight to the Forge of Solus Prime itself.”

                “ _What?_ Optimus, we _must_ have that relic,” Ratchet commed to the Prime.

                “Megatron, the forge is useless to you.”

                “Perhaps. But better it gather dust in my storage than be allowed to fall into your servos, _Prime_. Soundwave--”

                “Arcee, go!”

                With that, most all the microphone could pick up was the sound of gun fire as combat broke out. Ratchet’s frame was tense as he tried to pick out anything that could indicate how the battle was progressing, whether Arcee was successful, if Optimus could stand his own—

                Finally, the chaos quieted.

                “Optimus? What’s your status?”

                A few seconds passed before finally the comm-link lit up again.

                “Open a ground bridge, Ratchet.”

                Ratchet slumped at the tone. He was relieved to see that the whole team stepped through the bridge with nothing more than scratches, but their servos were empty.

                Megatron had the Forge of Solus Prime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your wonderful comments, kudos, and bookmarks!


	4. Chapter 4

                “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” Ratchet grumbled, not bothering to look up from where he was finishing a newly constructed servo. It was rudimentary at best, in his opinion, but better than some of the rubbish work he had seen when he first arrived. Not that he could blame the medics assigned to this battalion – it took plenty of time and practice to learn how to make a decent prosthesis in ideal conditions. Medics who had been trained before the war were becoming fewer and further between every century, and those who learned the trade during the war rarely had time to learn more than the basics until forced to figure out more complicated procedures with an injured bot dying in front of them.

                Which was why Ratchet came to this Primus forsaken moon in the first place. Between the battalion’s only pre-war taught medic having long off-lined and the Decepticons littering their new landmines across the battlefield, the two remaining medics faced a long line of soldiers in need of prostheses with no idea how to build them and called for help.

                “You know, Doc, one of these days it won’t be me.”

                Ratchet scoffed.

                “You’re the only one who drops by without a reason to, so I highly doubt that.”

                “Maybe you’d get more guests if you pulled that rod out of your tailpipe.”

                “I don’t need guests,” Ratchet insisted. He shut off his welder and carefully turned his creation, checking for anything he missed before setting it down to cool. It was only then that he spun his stool around to see the other mech. “And would you stop sitting on my work tables!”

                The white and grey mech gave a leisurely shrug from where he was perched.

                Wheeljack – “Jackie, if you’re lucky,” he had said with a too friendly grin when they were introduced – was the only other bot who had ended up here despite having no direct affiliation with the battalion. A bomb expert, apparently, on loan from the Wreckers. Ratchet had been genuinely surprised that Ultra Magnus had managed to wrangle that, but he supposed he should not have been. Optimus had been working over the last few years to pull them a bit closer in to the main Autobot chain of command, worried that they may eventually go rogue without someone to keep an optic on them.

                Ratchet had told Optimus that his idea to appoint Ultra Magnus as the Wreckers’ commander was unnecessary, and after some discussion the Prime had agreed it was too soon – they needed Ultra Magnus elsewhere. It had been the correct call, considering Ultra Magnus was currently in charge in Optimus’s absence. The more time Ratchet was forced to spend with Wheeljack though, the more Ratchet was tempted to come up with an excuse to breech the radio silence and contact Optimus, insisting he needed to return and install Ultra Magnus as the head of the Wreckers immediately.

                The idea of this sarcastic glitch having to cow under the most uptight mech Ratchet had ever met was usually enough to keep him from just strangling Wheeljack.

                “Sure you do,” Wheeljack replied, ignoring the request get off the work table, instead ever so slightly swinging his pedes. “Who else would you yell at?”

                “I wouldn’t need to yell if you would leave me in peace,” Ratchet insisted.

                “And leave you to wallow in loneliness?” Wheeljack smirked at him. “I’m a nicer mech than that.”

                “I’m not lonely,” Ratchet argued, but he knew he did not have conviction behind the statement as his spark clenched. “Besides, this is a temporary assignment. As soon as the medics are trained and you’ve taught the new bomb disposal team how to handle these landmines, we’re both out of here. And I’ll finally be able to--”

                “—Stop looking at my handsome mug, I know,” Wheeljack interjected, his optic’s bright with amusement at the growl of Ratchet’s engine. “Which actually brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about, Doc.”

                “Would you stop calling me that?”

                Wheeljack leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees as he trained his optics on Ratchet’s. “Look, neither of us belong here. I belong with my team, and you belong wherever it is you go when waiting for Prime to come back from one of his oh so important missions.”

                “It _is_ an important mission,” Ratchet said defensively, his fuel lines already starting to heat up. They had early on had a blow out when Wheeljack had made some offhand remark insulting Optimus, and Ratchet was not about to let another derisive comment about their Prime slip by.

                “Sure, sure,” Wheeljack replied with another shrug. “The point is, nobody here is gonna bother getting to know us, and we’re never gonna see each other again after this, so,” he said, his scarred lips pulling up into an almost predatory grin, “I figured I’d see if you wanted to have a little fun with the situation.”

                Ratchet stared at the Wrecker, his processor going over the short term memory transcripts, analyzing the words again and again, and each time coming to the same conclusion. It seemed ridiculous, surely there was no way, but then Wheeljack’s optic ridges raised in question.

                “Did I break you, Doc?”

                “No,” Ratchet started, shaking his head and continuing in a tone that belayed his disbelief, “I was just trying to narrow down the possibilities of what could have happened to your processor to leave you so glitched that you would proposition me.”

                Wheeljack released an amused ex-vent. “It’s not that crazy an idea.”

                “I can’t stand you.”

                “And you’re a bit small for my tastes. What’s your point?”

                “My--” Ratchet started, his voice laced with static. He rebooted his voice box before continuing, “My _point_ is that there’s no reason to think I’d want to interface with you! I don’t even know what you think _you’ll_ get out of it!”

                “I’d get a frag is what I’d get,” Wheeljack stated bluntly as he sat up straight again. He lifted his servos, moving them as he continued. “Besides, way I see it, it’s possible I’ll get lonely away from my crew. And you can deny it all you want, but I _know_ you’re a lonely fragger.” Each servo was held out to his sides. He slowly brought them to meet in front of his chassis, lacing the digits together. “Figured we might as well cure our loneliness together. Then, when the mission is done, boom.” Wheeljack quickly separated his servos again. “We go our separate ways. No ties, no problems.”

                “This is ridiculous,” Ratchet said with a roll of his optics. He spun on the stool, turning away from the Wrecker to reconsider his work space. Or, at the very least, to pretend like he was thinking about anything other than the offer.

                “So is that a no?”

                Ratchet opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated on his answer. Clearly he should say no, this whole concept was absurd, Wheeljack drove him up a wall so why would he ever want to spend any time with him, let alone frag him?

                The ache in his chest was all he needed to explain why he hesitated. Ratchet was loath to admit it, but Wheeljack was right.

                He _was_ lonely.

                Optimus had been away on his mission for over a year. It was not unheard of for them to part ways, and they had spent far longer periods apart. The trouble was that the mission required radio silence, so he not only did not see the Prime, but had not even heard his voice in all that time, had received no messages, had no way of confirming that Optimus was even still alive. His frame could be going cold, the life fading from his optics, all at that very moment, and Ratchet would have no idea, may never know Optimus’s fate. The separation and fear had triggered a flare up in Ratchet’s feelings so awful that when the request for an expert medic came through, he jumped at the opportunity. He had thought that the distraction would do him good, but instead the loss of his usual companions and their company had left him to spiral further.

                Seeking comfort could get him through the flare up, and if he was lucky, Optimus might return by the time he was finished here. Ratchet would have this chance to burn off any residual charge before coming face-to-face with Optimus again, which would greatly help is staving off temptation.

                Ratchet slowly spun the stool again, ex-venting as he considered the mech with wary optics. It was unfortunate that he could not find better company, but it was probably for the best anyway. There was no worry that either of them would grow attached. And when his mouth was shut, he _was_ a decently attractive bot with a frame Ratchet would have given a second glance in his younger years. And as Wheeljack had pointed out, the odds that they would ever cross paths again were astronomically small.

                Primus, Ratchet could not even remember the last time he had overloaded, let alone interfaced with someone.

                “No one ever finds out about this.”

Wheeljack grinned, gracefully sliding off the work table and onto his pedes. “Course not. This can stay between us.”

                “ _Will_ ,” Ratchet insisted, tilting his helm as Wheeljack slowly sauntered up to where he sat. “This _will_ stay between us.”

                “I’ll take it to the scrapyard.” The Wrecker leaned his face down closer, and without warning his field unfurled to mingle with Ratchet’s. It was smoldering, the contact sending a jolt of change dancing across Ratchet’s circuits. Wheeljack smile only grew when Ratchet let his interest bleed out into his own field. “So I take it you’re accepting my offer?”

                “Consider this your chance to convince me.”

                Rachet’s spark ached, and he knew this would not appease it, but it would dull the pain.

                For at least a little while, he would allow himself this indulgence.

* * *

 

                “Now let me make sure I heard correctly,” Agent Fowler said, his hands at his hips as he looked up at Optimus in disbelief. “Even though you’ve been following Megatron’s progress for the last three days, you failed to nab this forge of yours because it was ‘too heavy’?”

                Optimus pointedly ignored the sardonic tone. “That is correct, Agent Fowler. I suspect that only Bulkhead or I would have been able to carry the forge with enough ease to escape the Decepticon forces with it.”

                “But neither of us were fast enough to catch up to Megatron before he escaped,” Bulkhead added with a frown. “Bee and Arcee were, but you know. Too heavy for them.”

                Bumblebee whirred bitterly, and Arcee stayed silent where she was leaned against a wall, refusing to look at the human.

                “So, Megatron has this forge. Fine. What kind of danger does that put us in?”

                “Very little, actually,” Ratchet replied. “The Forge of Solus Prime is a tool which can only be harnessed by a Prime. All Megatron can use it for is as a weapon, and frankly I doubt he will utilize it that way.”

                “He knows what I could do with it if we retrieved it, so I’m certain that Megatron will do everything in his power to keep it far away. Bringing it into battle as a weapon would be too great a risk,” Optimus agreed.

                “So it’s a standstill at this point.” Fowler sighed. “It’s hardly ideal, but I’ll accept it. But there’s still other things out there, aren’t there?”

                Optimus nodded solemnly. “There were other coordinates, but I did not decode them, and we do not currently have access to the Iacon database. However, Megatron did not utilize the database until he had me to decode it, so I feel it is safe to assume they are not yet capable of doing so themselves.”

                “They certainly weren’t, but now that they have examples of decoded sections, I fear it may only be a matter of time before Soundwave figures it out.”

                The Prime glanced at Ratchet, optics cycling, no doubt recalling what he had read from their files on the Decepticons. After a moment, he nodded.

                “That is true, Ratchet. We will have to consider every opportunity to gain access to that database, in hopes we do so before the code is broken.”

* * *

 

                Despite their best efforts, there was little the team could do to retrieve the database. They had already been doing their best to find a way to track the Decepticon warship to no success, and adding another motivation to the list did not make it any easier.

                There had been a false alarm when too soon after their battle with the Decepticons a beacon popped up on the scanners. Optimus had been certain that there was little possibility that another set of coordinates could have already been decoded, so he and Bumblebee had gone to investigate with utmost care with Bulkhead and Arcee ready to bridge in as back up. It had been a good call since it quickly was revealed to be a trap set up by MECH.

                It took a couple minutes to explain to Optimus that it was not _a_ mech who had tried to attack, but a human organization who by sheer chance called themselves MECH.

                While they did not know for certain what the humans had had planned, it had been a safe bet that they had tried to trap another cybertronian for their sick experiments, as they had with Breakdown. Optimus had made a point to find a way to send a signal to the Decepticons warning them about the traps.

                “They may be the enemy, but MECH is as well. We cannot allow our technology to fall into the wrong hands if it would be used as a weapon by the humans. Even if it was not one of ours, no cybertronian should be allowed in their hands again.”

                And so a small transmission beacon was set up across the world from their base, broadcasting a simple message warning any who picked it up to be wary of any new signals that may appear, explaining they were a human trap. Ratchet had grumbled about it, but ultimately agreed. It was bad enough that they had the Decepticons to deal with – the last thing they needed was for the humans to build anything that could actually cause them harm.

                After that, things went quiet. The team went on patrols, found and gathered energon from small deposits.

                And Optimus continued to be, well, himself. At least, the version of himself he used to be, still as much Orion as he was Prime.

                Ratchet knew he had never really disappeared – Orion had still existed in those off-hand comments that were jokes in disguise, in his quiet contentment when he had a chance to do research, in those rare moments when he showed more than a glimmer of his emotions. At his spark, Optimus would always be Orion.

                But now it was clear as day on his face.

                His jokes were straightforward, and his chuckles honest when it caught his teammates off-guard. When he was not helm-deep in datapads, he was still researching through conversations, picking up any information he could find. And his emotions, well, they flowed out into his energy field with ease, typically unafraid to be shared with Ratchet.

                Every day Ratchet woke up with dread, expecting his Prime side to have finally started to take over, and every day the dread gave way to a racing spark pulse when Optimus beamed at him and his field reached out for his own.

                Ratchet began to realize that with every day that passed, the worse the dread became. The transition was a foregone conclusion, and the longer it took the less prepared Ratchet felt.

                He was not sure if he was ready to lose him again.

* * *

 

                Typically, when the trio of warriors returned from dropping their human companions off at their homes and there was not an immediate patrol to do, they would use the time to relax alone. Sometimes a couple of them would spar or play a game, but usually it was a time for them to engage is what they did not have time to do otherwise.

                Today, though, they were all crowded around each other, conversing easily. Ratchet did not bother to pick apart the words, but instead turned down his audials so he could better focus. It was not often that he got a chance to fill his time with anything that was not upkeep or upgrading the hardware that kept the base running. Finally though the chance came, and he was busying himself with the synth-en formula. Not that he was getting very far with it – at every turn, he hit a technological wall, since the tools he had were limited.

                Ratchet became so entrenched in his work that he startled when he felt a field brush his own and it was not Optimus’s. He would never admit to having all but squeaked as he spun around to see Bulkhead, frozen where he was bending down to pick up the ball of scrap metal they used for lobbing. They stared at each other with wide optics.

                “Uh, sorry, Ratch, didn’t mean to startle you.”

                It was quiet, but the medic still picked up the words as he turned the volume back up on his audials. They did not help much to diffuse his confusion.

                Ratchet tried to put together a smooth transition, anything to get to the answer he wanted without making the situation more awkward, but nothing came to mind. So he settled for the next best thing.

                “Are you aware your scrambler is disabled?”

                Bulkhead gave him a shy look, his frame in motion again as he picked up the ball. “Yeah. I turned it off.”

                “Alright,” Ratchet managed, still a bit at a loss that he could not only see the slight embarrassment on Bulkhead’s face, but actually feel it warming his field where they mingled. The medic curiously pressed his further, letting his confusion emanate to where the warrior would feel it. And, right on cue, Bulkhead’s optics cycled in thought before he finally understood.

                “That’s confusion, right?” When Ratchet nodded, Bulkhead grinned before explaining, “Well, after Optimus told us about how you guys started using fields the way they used to be used, and then you told us about them, we got curious.”

                “Wait, all of you?” Ratchet asked, looking past Bulkhead to where the other two stood. Arcee shrugged casually, at ease, but Bumblebee actually looked away from the medic’s gaze.

                The femme answered, “We can’t let you two have all the fun.”

                Ratchet could not help getting to his pedes and walking over. It was almost overwhelming as not only did Bulkhead’s field stay in contact, but soon Arcee’s and Bumblebee’s collided with his as well. While the medic had kept his field open all through the war, the last time he had felt more than one field at a time had been long ago, likely just after the war started.

                “How long have you three been doing this?”

                “::Just now,::” Bumblebee admitted. His field was shyer than the other two, often flitting out of reach before eventually returning.

                Arcee playfully slapped her servo on the scout’s arm. “Bulk and I wanted to try it out sooner, but Bee kept saying no until today.”

                Ratchet glanced between Bulkhead and Arcee, remarking, “Why didn’t you two just do so without him then?”

                The two shared an embarrassed look before pointedly looking away from one another.

                “That seemed kind of weird, you know?” Bulkhead explained, dropping the lobbing ball and reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. When Ratchet gave him a glower, he added, “Not that there is anything wrong with just two bots doing that! It’s just different for us than you and Optimus.”

                “ _Different_.”

                “We’ve only used ours when ‘facing,” Arcee stated bluntly, her tone cool but her field wavering. They all used their fields like newly forged bots, struggling to control what they projected and what they kept to themselves. “So it would have been awkward for just two of us to try it out.”

                “And Bee hasn’t used his at all, even _when_ ‘facing,” Bulkhead added, his voice teasing. Ratchet’s optics went wide before he could stop himself from reacting. Bumblebee’s plating flared out, his field spiking with indignation as he stomped his pede.

                “::Would you stop bringing that up?!::”

                “Not as long as it continues to be funny,” Arcee said with a grin.

                Ratchet was still staring at the scout, flabbergasted. Bumblebee ex-vented under the gaze, his frame slumping. “::Is it really that weird?::”

                The medic had to reboot his vocalizer when he found it had frozen.

                “Well, it’s not unheard of,” Ratchet started carefully, using his best medic voice to professionally distance himself from the topic. “I do seem to recall reading a research article a couple centuries back that concluded that the more time there is between the invention of the field scrambler program and the time a cybertronian was forged after the war began, the greater the likelihood that they will choose to engage in field-free interfacing.”

                “So it’s a young ‘bot thing,” Arcee simplified.

                “Assuming the researcher’s conclusion was correct,” Ratchet replied, nodding at Bumblebee, “they suggested that among Autobots around your age, the percentage of those who have never disabled their scramblers could be as high as thirty eight percent. So no, it’s not that unusual given your age.”

                Bumblebee’s field finally slowed in its wavering, spikes softening into waves. Even so, Ratchet pushed some comfort into the scout’s field for good measure.

                “::See?::” he beeped, posturing for Bulkhead and Arcee. “::It’s not my fault you’re all old.::”

                The two warriors exchanged a look, Arcee rolling her optics while Bulkhead shrugged.

                “Your loss,” Arcee quipped. Bumblebee’s engine growled a bit.

                “::Have you even tried it?::”

                “Sure, but it wasn’t worth repeating.”

                Ratchet took a couple slow steps backwards, attempting to extract himself from the conversation as quickly as he could. He was certainly no prude – he was a medic, after all, and only Primus knew how many interface arrays he had seen as part of his work – but there were some lines of professionalism he preferred to not cross with the young warriors. Casually discussing their interfacing histories was one of those lines.

                He managed to put some distance between himself and the group as they chatted among themselves. However, as soon as Ratchet’s field pulled away from theirs, they all felt the difference, and glanced at him mid-escape.

                “Sorry, did we make you uncomfortable?” Bulkhead asked, his tone apologetic. Ratchet shook his head though in response.

                “Oh, no, I just have nothing to add and work to do. Of course, if any of you have questions about your fields or interfacing--”

                “Have _you_ ever interfaced without your field?”

                Arcee’s smirk was wide and Ratchet hated it in that moment.

                “That’s hardly relevant--”

                “::--And that’s assuming he’s fragged anyone,::” Bumblebee interrupted, seemingly more than eager to pile on now that the teasing had moved from him to someone else.

                “Aw, come on, you guys,” Bulkhead said, his tone soft, but Ratchet could see the way his optics brightened. “Ratchet’s older than any of us. He’s had plenty of time to try out all sorts of weird scrap.”

                “So?” Arcee asked, and her smirk only grew wider.

                Ratchet finally ex-vented, though his plating was still pulled in tight.

                “Will you let me leave this whole conversation?” The three looked at one another before nodding, all their optics trained on Ratchet’s face.

                “Once,” Ratchet admitted, his arms crossed over his chest, avoiding catching any of their gazes. “Worst frag I ever had.”

                Bulkhead hooted with laughter and Arcee doubled over giggling when Bumblebee visibly drooped.

                “::Not you too, Ratchet! It can’t be that much better with fields!::”

                Ratchet simply turned away with a wave of his servo, returning to his abandoned datapad. However, he did snicker to himself as the trio continued to loudly debate behind him.

* * *

 

                “You want to give me a check-up?”

                Ratchet had to bite back several choice words and phrases as he glowered down at the mech that had very quickly become the bane of his existence.

                It had been bad enough that divine punishment decided to have his path cross with Wheeljack’s again after all these ages and that he had had to suffer through _two_ welcoming parties for him. Now though, with Optimus’s amnesia and the worst flare up Ratchet had ever experienced, the very last thing he had needed was for his former ‘no ties no problems’ fling to show up _again_ and decide this time to stay on the planet.

                “Full-frame maintenance,” the medic corrected, lifting a digit to point at Wheeljack. “I don’t want to think about how long it’s been since you had even a _basic_ maintenance check. If you’re going to become my problem from now on, then we’re starting with full-frame maintenance to make sure you’re functioning optimally.”

                “Funny. I could have sworn I said I wasn’t joining the team.”

                “But you’re staying on this planet, and as the only resident medic, that means you fall under my responsibility.”

                “Aw, come on, Jackie,” Bulkhead said, getting up from the med berth and slapping Wheeljack on the back. The damage done to his frame from having a bomb embedded in his chest had taken some time to treat, but it was finished, the welding still fresh but solid. “Ratchet’s a good doctor – _the best_ ,” he clarified when Ratchet’s glower shifted to him, “so you can trust him. And it’ll give us a chance to catch up before you leave!”

                Ratchet felt a sting of guilt, but it was too late to back out of his plan now. “Actually, Bulkhead, full-frame maintenance is a bit invasive. I would be taking Wheeljack to the private examination room.”

                Finally Wheeljack’s optics widened ever so slightly.

                “Oh. Gotcha,” Bulkhead said, slumping slightly. Wheeljack lightly punched him in the arm, a warm grin on his face.

                “Don’t worry about it, Bulk. I’ll come get you once I get that clean bill of health and you can escort me to the Jackhammer.”

                “The children are due home soon anyway. I won’t be done with the maintenance until after you’re back.”

                Seemingly satisfied, Bulkhead left, calling for Miko as he did.

                It was once he was out of sight that Wheeljack turned to look at Ratchet, saying, “Alright, Doc. Lead the way.”

                Ratchet rolled his optics, heading to the door of his private examination room. It did not get much use since with such a small team, it was easy to simply tell the other teammates that they needed to steer clear for a while. But it was a medical necessity, and Ratchet was glad he had it for times like this.

                He gestured Wheeljack in before following after and closing the door behind them.

                “I’m flattered, Doc, really I am,” Wheeljack said, sitting on the med berth and smirking up at Ratchet, “but I’ve moved on, and I suggest you do too.”

                “Don’t flatter yourself.” Ratchet sat heavily on a stool across the room from Wheeljack, arms crossed. “I have no desire to make that mistake again.”

                “Right. Then let’s cut to the chase.” Wheeljack let his expression settle into something more serious. “I told you I wouldn’t tell anyone, and I’ve kept my word. That’s not gonna change just because we share a planet now, ok? So relax. At this rate, you’re the one who’s gonna give us away.”

                Ratchet finally felt his chassis begin to relax for the first time since Wheeljack appeared again.

                “I simply wanted to make sure.”

                Wheeljack nodded, and Ratchet hated the knowing look he had on his face. “You always were a nervous one.”

                “It’s been a million years--”

                “—And you haven’t changed a bit,” Wheeljack interrupted, grinning when Ratchet’s engine revved angrily in his chassis.

                “I see you haven’t either,” Ratchet grumbled, cycling a ventilation before standing up again and moving to dig through his tool box. It was only once he started to place some on the med table that Wheeljack spoke up again.

                “So, since we have that all out of the way, I can go, right?”

                Ratchet tutted him as he added another tool to the pile. “That’s why I brought you in _here_. I still fully intend on doing my job.”

                “That’s a dirty trick,” Wheeljack said. When Ratchet was content with the tools he had pulled, he turned and wheeled the cart over to the examination berth. The Wrecker was glaring at him. “Here I was, trying to play nice--”

                “ _Please_ ,” Ratchet interrupted sarcastically, shaking his head. “I’m still not convinced you didn’t agree to this because you thought I was desperate enough to frag you again.”

                “Now who’s flattering himself.”

                “Just lay down and shut up.”

                “You’re sending some really mixed messages, Doc. Last time I heard you say that, you were more than happy to--”

                Ratchet shoved Wheeljack backwards, his strength catching the Wrecker off guard.

                It took a few more snarky comments before Wheeljack finally quieted, off-lining his optics while Ratchet went to work. The medic worked from the base of the mech’s pedes and then up, making sure to carefully remove every piece of plating and check the wiring and mechanisms underneath. The vast majority of the work was cleaning up the inner workings, wiping away millennia worth of grim deep under the armor that regular cleaning simply could not reach. Then came checking wire casings for any wear and tear, making sure hydraulics moved smoothly, testing the structural integrity of struts, and verifying that biomechanical organs were functioning properly, among countless other tasks.

                Ratchet had barely gotten to Wheeljack’s knees before the Wrecker spoke.

                “Prime’s changed though, hasn’t he?”

                His hands stilled as Ratchet considered ignoring the comment. Wheeljack was rude, but they both knew that he would not push this particular subject.

                Ratchet finished the section, returning the armor plating to its rightful place before he finally replied.

                “I assume someone else already explained what happened.”

                “Told me himself when we were heading Bulk’s way. Doesn’t remember anything that happened after he became Prime the first time.” When Ratchet did not speak up to correct him, Wheeljack continued, “So, does he remember what happened between the two of you?”

                Ratchet could not hide the way his lips pressed tight together as a small wave of panic washed over him. Wheeljack waited though as the medic sat back, off-lining his optics and cycling through a few ventilations.

                It had been his own fault that his secret slipped all those years ago. Wheeljack had been accommodating when Ratchet had found himself distracted by self-indulgent fantasies, grinning at him as he said he was welcome to think about someone else when they fragged, had made it a game, saying that he would think of someone else too, that it would be fun. And it had been until they finished and Wheeljack stared up, wide-eyed, asking, “Did you just moan Prime’s name?”

                But the Wrecker was oddly kind, sitting with Ratchet as panic completely overwhelmed him, and every time he had begged him to not tell anyone, Wheeljack had repeated his promise; that he would never say anything about it to anyone, that he would take it to his grave, that no one else would ever know. And then when Ratchet finally calmed down and tried to apologize, Wheeljack had waved it off. “You’re not the first mech I’ve fragged to have an episode and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

                And he had listened without comment when Ratchet admitted, for the first and last time, what had happened between him and Optimus all those years ago.

                It would be safe to talk with him about it, Ratchet told himself. He already knew too much anyway. Sure, Ratchet had only admitted the truth because he had assumed that once they parted, they would never meet again. There had been a certain level of anonymity to be had, or so he thought. A mistake on his part, but a mistake he had to live with now.

                Ratchet let out a long, slow ex-vent.

                “I don’t know. I haven’t asked and don’t plan to.”

                “Why not?”

                Ratchet shrugged weakly and bent over again, starting to remove another armor plate. Anything to keep his hands busy and stave off the anxiety.

                “Why would I? Even if he does remember, it’s just a matter of time before history repeats itself.”

                “You mean until he decides it’s not Primely to mingle with us simple bots?” Ratchet’s engine roared as he shot a glare at Wheeljack. His optics were still off, but even so, he ex-vented and continued, “Yeah, yeah, I know. He _had_ to, it’s his _duty_ , all that other junk.”

                Ratchet did not bother to even recognize the comment with a response. He just worked, fighting against the desire to accidentally turn Wheeljack’s pain receptors back on.

                It was not until Ratchet reached the Wrecker’s abdominal plating that Wheeljack spoke again.

                “How long has he been like this?”

                “Couple of weeks. Why?”

                “Has he changed much yet? Because he doesn’t seem much like what I heard about Optimus. Thought he was supposed to be a lot more serious.”

                Ratchet’s in-vent stalled for a moment.

                “No, not yet. He’s still very much like Orion.”

                Wheeljack finally onlined his optics and looked down his frame at Ratchet; his optics were bright.

                “What makes you so sure he’ll change this time?”

                Ratchet huffed, shaking his head, but unable to look away. “Because even if he’s like Orion, he’s still Optimus Prime. Bots change, but Primes don’t. Eventually the Prime side will win his spark over.”

                “But why?” Wheeljack challenged. “We’re not on Cybertron anymore. He doesn’t have an army to impress anymore. Making friendly seems to be working just fine for him around here. I mean, scrap, he managed to make _me_ like him. Seems to me like there’s no reason for him to change, and I’ve never known a mech to change without reason to.”

                “Being Prime is reason enough.”

                “But--”

                “ _Wheeljack_.” Ratchet finally looked away from the mech. For a moment he worried that Wheeljack would know how quickly his spark was pulsing in its casing, energon hot in his lines. “Drop it.”

                “You’re really gonna let fear stop you?”

                “ _Yes_ ,” Ratchet spat out, slamming his palm down on the berth, his optics burning as he glared at Wheeljack. “Yes, I am, because I can’t go through that again. Optimus was never mine to have, I’ve accepted that, so fragging drop it before I drop you into stasis.”

                Wheeljack was considering it – his optics shone as they cycled, his scarred lips clenched together, barely holding back whatever else he had to say. It was a look that had preceded many an argument before.

                “One more thing.”

                “Absolutely not.”

                “Just one, and then I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

                “You’ll do that anyway in stasis.”

                “You’re busting my ball bearings here, Sunshine.”

                “Don’t call me that!”

                “Just one thing – a couple of words tops!”

                “Fine! But by the Allspark, if you don’t drop it after that--”

                “What if he doesn’t change?”

                Ratchet could feel his spark burn in his chest.

                “He will,” he stated, as if discussing a fact of cybertronian biology. “Now, what’s it gonna be? Stasis or silence?”

                Wheeljack’s body practically vibrated where his motornet was still activated, brimming with arguments. However, in the end he off-lined his optics and let his head fall back against the berth with a huff.

                “Who am I to argue with the doctor?”

* * *

 

                Optimus had not been upset about Ratchet fixing up Starscream. If anything, he seemed more unnerved by the idea that the medic would have simply left him there without medical attention if he had not provided intel about the Insecticon. When faced with Arcee’s rage borne from loss, however, the Prime had the good sense to focus on the simple facts: they had no way of keeping prisoners and they did not attack helpless lifeforms.

                And helpless he had been. Ratchet was still perturbed by the information that apparently Starscream had fallen for MECH’s trap before their signal of warning reached him, and that the humans had taken his _T-Cog_. Despite their best efforts, MECH continued to prove themselves to be a threat.

                There were more pressing matters to deal with though. Namely, that Airachnid had an Insecticon at her disposal.

* * *

 

                “Optimus?” Ratchet called, lightly rapping his knuckles on the Prime’s door. There were muffled sounds of movement, pedes striding across the floor, before the door slid open. Optimus’s field and smile were welcoming but strained, as if struggling to keep from shifting to another emotion.

                The team had returned uninjured and the Insecticon disposed of. Airachnid and Megatron had both made their escapes, but Ratchet would not have called the trip a failure by any stretch of the imagination. And yet, once finished debriefing him on the events, Optimus had been quick to take his leave of the group and retreat to his quarters. His field had been held close to his frame, but Ratchet was certain he had managed to lift something from the Prime before he left.

                It had felt a lot like regret.

                “Did you need something?”

                “Ah, no, nothing that serious.” Ratchet glanced away for a moment, double-checking that no one else was in the hallway. “I just wanted to check on you.”

                Optimus did not look surprised, but his smile took on an embarrassed tilt. He opened the door wider, moving to one side as he gestured Ratchet inside. “I had not meant to worry you.”

                Ratchet huffed with bemusement as he entered the room. “It’s my job to be worried about you. I can’t very well trust you to take care of yourself.”

                “I seem to recall you worrying like this long before it was an official position.”

                “I’m a medic. I worry.”

                Optimus nodded, commenting, “And I’ve always liked that about you, my friend.”

                Ratchet pointedly ignored the way the comment warmed his spark, instead taking a moment to survey the room. It was still sparse, the way Optimus had always kept his quarters during the war, though Ratchet suspected that it was now due to there simply being a lack of things to fill it with. A berth and a desk with a chair made up the furniture. On the desk though were nearly a dozen datapads, stacked in three neat piles.

                “You should sit,” Optimus suggested, his optics briefly glancing at Ratchet’s back before returning. The medic rolled his own, but still took him up on the offer, settling on the desk chair.

                “My back is fine, Optimus. The hairline fractures have all sealed.”

                “But they’re still weakened, aren’t they?” Optimus moved to sit on his berth, concern ebbing out from him. “And you’ve hardly been kind to yourself, which can slow the healing process.”

                Ratchet objected, saying, “I’m well aware of how healing works. It’s my job, so you don’t have to concern yourself with it.”

                “I know. But I worry as well.”

                With a long ex-vent, Ratchet finally nodded. “Fine. But let’s focus on my worry for now, shall we?”

                “Very well. I suppose there’s no point in delaying,” Optimus relented, although he did not look happy about it. He looked down at his servos, his digits fidgeting as he gathered his thoughts. As he did, his field shifted, and yes – that was definitely regret that he had been masking, but there was something more that Ratchet could not quite pinpoint.

                “It’s about Megatron. I—I still don’t understand how he became the way he is,” Optimus started carefully, his servos folded in his lap. “I’ve read all the entries regarding it, of course. I have researched the facts. Our partnership and the meeting with the Council. And I know the kind of mech he is now, and the horrors he’s committed. I need only look at our team to see a fraction of the damage he’s--”He stopped again, optics cycling and ridges furrowed. The words seemed to fail him as he shook his head.

                “But I remember none of it. I read entries that I remember writing, filled with memories I can still recall, but they’re littered with mentions of debates and discussions with Megatron that I don’t recognize.”

                Ratchet’s lips pressed tightly together, optics narrowed as he asked, “You don’t remember anything about him at all?”

                Optimus shook his head, replying quickly, “No, I do have memories of him. But they aren’t memories of the political partnership we built. Those memories – well, it would seem that my former self took those ones with him.”

                It was quiet for a minute, Optimus staring down at his servos and Ratchet wrapping his processor around the words. He had always assumed that Optimus’s memories had had a concrete end where they stopped. That had been the assumption he built his initial plan around – that by pinpointing an end, he would know what Optimus knew. It had never occurred to him that there would be loose strands and gaps, ripped out of Orion’s lifetime before his time as Prime even began, blurring the lines of what he remembered and what was gone.

                Finally, Ratchet managed to ask, “What do you remember then?”

                There was a pause, a wavering of optics, before Optimus smiled weakly.

                “Do you recall the time that Megatronus spent all of his recent winnings on high grade?”

                That took Ratchet by surprise. He narrowed his optics and drew his ridges in tight, thinking carefully. “By the Allspark, that’s a lifetime ago. Would I have even been there?”

                “You were,” Optimus confirmed. “I asked him if I could invite you over, since I was still hoping you two would befriend each other. As well, Soundwave and I weren’t heavy drinkers, so I thought Megatron would appreciate someone who could keep up with him.”

                Ratchet’s optics cycled before going wide.

                “Right! He had bought them for Soundwave, hadn’t he?”

                Optimus’s optics shined.

                “He did, yes. Soundwave greatly disliked the taste of cheap high grade, but the gladiators would buy for quantity over quality, so that’s all he had had access to. He admitted to Megatronus that as a result, he had never been over-charged--”

                “—And the slagger immediately went out to buy the most expensive high grade he could get his servos on and dragged Soundwave to your apartment to drink it.” Ratchet actually chuckled. “I had forgotten all about that. Which is actually surprising since that was the best high grade I ever had.”

                “I imagine the amount you drank had an effect on your memory.”

                Ratchet looked across at Optimus, his expression serious as he asked, “ _Did_ I keep up with him?”

                “My friend,” Optimus started with a gleam in his optic, “you absolutely did not.”

                The medic’s act broke as quick as he had put it on, laughing as he shook his head. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t have, based on sheer frame size alone. Did I at least keep it down?”

                “By sheer force of will.”

                Ratchet nodded. “Would have been a _terrible_ waste of high grade.”

                Optimus’s chuckle was more like an ex-vent. His smile slipped away slowly, his optics dropping back to his lap. “That’s the Megatron I remember. I can’t deny that he was abrasive, but he was also clever, passionate, and at his spark he was caring – or so I had thought.”

                Silence fell. Ratchet had no idea what to say. He wanted to comfort Optimus, but what little respect he had ever had for Megatron was long gone. The warlord he became had tainted their history with all the sparks he had extinguished.

                “I considered killing him.”

                “What?” Ratchet asked, his field wavering with surprise. Optimus still did not look up and his servos clenched tighter.

                “He was exhausted from his fight with the Insecticon, and he asked if I would take him alive or end it, as if he thought I would consider offlining him at all, let alone while helpless. And yet I did. I considered it. I actually--” Optimus’s helm drooped lower, his voice hollow. “I don’t recognize Megatron, but I don’t recognize the mech I became either.”

                His field was impossibly dark.

                Ratchet’s frame was moving before he realized it, rising from his seat and crossing over to where Optimus sat. It was only once his servos came to rest on the Prime’s shoulders that Optimus startled, glancing up at Ratchet, his optics dim, far too dim—

                “But you didn’t.”

                “I had my gun aimed at him,” Optimus persisted, his voice finally giving away his quiet distress. “I looked him in the optics with a weapon aimed at his face--”

                “But you _didn’t_ ,” Ratchet insisted, his servos gripping tighter. “Honestly, Optimus, I wish you would. There are times your compassion frustrates me to no end. But you didn’t. You _wouldn’t_.” Affection radiated out of his spark, traveling through his lines, tugging the corner of his mouth up. He let it warm his field, radiating out to encompass Optimus. “The war changed us, but I’ve always known that at your core, you remained my dear Orion. And you still are.”

                Optimus stared at him, the light in his optics wavering, and then there – it was shaky, but he smiled back before leaning forward, letting his helm rest against Ratchet’s chest.

                It was not his wisest decision, but Ratchet allowed himself to move his servos further, gently pulling his Prime into a comforting embrace. The first glimmer of gratitude from Optimus’s field banished any fears Ratchet held as the Prime slowly reached up to wrap his arms around the medic’s waist, holding him tightly in return.

                “Thank you, Ratchet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added the relevant tag to the tags list.


	5. Chapter 5

                It was still difficult to believe.

                The very core of Cybertron itself had bestowed the Matrix of Leadership upon Orion. The High Council was officially appointing him Prime. In his past life he had been one of the original Primes.

                Orion—

                No, not Orion. Even if he told Ratchet it was fine for him to continue calling him by that name, the fact of the matter was that Orion Pax was no longer his proper name.

                It was Optimus Prime that Ratchet had helped to his feet and escorted to the Iacon archives to find Alpha Trion.

                It was Optimus Prime who had all but disappeared from Ratchet’s life for three days. When his lover finally appeared again at his doorstep, Ratchet had started to give him an audial-full for not even messaging him to let him know what was happening. That anger had quickly shifted to overwhelming concern when Optimus nearly collapsed where he stood.

                And it was Optimus Prime that had pulled him into his berth when Ratchet insisted he recharge, curling up against his side and half laying on his chest. His servo had come to rest right above where Ratchet’s spark was housed as he had told him, piece by piece, about all that had happened after Alpha Trion had whisked him away. About all the important bots he had met and meetings that were quickly arranged for him, and about the countless responsibilities they would all too soon be handing to him. It had only been because Optimus had started to slip into recharge mid-meeting that someone realized that he had gone over three days without a proper recharge and dismissed him.

                And yet Optimus could only recharge for at most an hour at a time, inevitably booting up again. Sometimes he would pick up where he had left off in his retelling of the last three days. Other times he would ask Ratchet to tell him about his day, about how his new work as a field medic was going, anything that had nothing to do with his new position as Prime.

                This time, he simply continued to lie there, occasionally humming lowly when Ratchet’s fingers would slip between cables or under plating, carefully massaging away tension in hopes it would lull him back into recharge.

                “Orion?” Ratchet asked quietly, already regretting the decision as it escaped his voice box. Optimus nodded slightly with another hum, indicating he was listening. “No, never mind. It’s nothing.”

                “I know you better than that, my love,” Optimus insisted, lightly drumming his digits against Ratchet’s chassis.

                “It’s selfish.”

                “Then be selfish.”

                “It’s not as important as--”

                “Ratchet,” Optimus said, shifting slightly so he could turn his helm to look at the medic, “If it is on your processor, then it is important to me.”

                Ratchet spark felt like it was in a vice in his chest. He had to cycle through a couple ventilations before finally, in little more than a whisper, he asked, “What happens with us now?”

                Confusion ebbed through Optimus’s field. “I don’t understand.”

                “You’re _Prime_ now,” Ratchet said, and he could not keep the awe from his voice. “I mean, are Primes even allowed to have lovers?”

                “I—I don’t believe that’s an issue that has ever come up,” Optimus admitted, his optics cycling in thought. “The only Prime who would have had the opportunity would have been Sentinel.”

                “And the only attractive thing about him was his power.”

                “That’s hardly kind,” Optimus chided, though he still grinned softly at the comment. “But it is true that he never admitted publically to having any personal relationships.”

                “So most likely, no other Prime has had a lover.” Ratchet could feel the vice in his chest grow tighter. As hard as he was working to keep his field calm, he knew his anxiety was starting to slip through.

                Optimus lifted a servo to gently caress Ratchet’s face before cupping it.

                “Simply because it has not happened before does not mean it’s disallowed. I’m a Prime now, after all,” Optimus started, his field growing warmer as he let his affection wash over them both, “and I am still very much in love with you, Ratchet.”

                Ratchet’s spark swelled.

                “And if Primus himself tells you it’s not allowed?”

                “I’m his Prime, not his slave,” Optimus replied. “That is a rule I would not be able to abide by.”

                “That seems awfully selfish for a Prime,” Ratchet teased, turning his helm to place a kiss on Optimus’s palm.

                “If it’s selfish to love then so be it.” Optimus removed his servo to brace it against the berth as he moved, lifting his frame to cover Ratchet’s and bury his face against his lover’s neck. Ratchet sharply in-vented, his frame melting into the berth as Optimus’s lips brushed against his cabling.

                “You’re supposed to be recharging,” Ratchet reminded him even as he tilted his helm back, allowing greater access.

                “In due time.” Optimus’s ex-vents were warm, seeping into Ratchet’s frame.

                “I swear to Primus, if you show up at my door nearly collapsing from exhaustion again--”

                “Won’t you allow me this one selfishness?”

                “You already know I will.” 

* * *

                Optimus had to remember.

                Now that Ratchet knew more about how the Prime’s amnesia worked, he was practically certain that Optimus would remember. After all, there was not any specific cut off as he had assumed. Along with everything that happened once he became Prime, Optimus had lost his memories of Megatron that were relevant to them becoming enemies, likely because it was Megatron’s resulting actions which led to Optimus gaining the Matrix in the first place. It would explain why he could not remember the time before he became Prime but after the meeting with the Council – the entire war was Megatron’s doing, after all, and was what led to him becoming Prime, so that network of memories was ripped out of Orion’s memories when Optimus’s were.

                So anything in Orion’s memories that were not about his and Megatron’s political relationship or the war would have likely been left intact.

                Including their affair.

                It had always been a strong possibility, but the near certainty had Ratchet’s tanks churning.

                There was nothing to be done about it though. It was not as if he could avoid Optimus. Ratchet would simply have to continue to keep up his façade, at least until they finally reached the end of all this.

                Optimus would change and when he did, Ratchet would finally be able to extinguish the feeling in his spark that felt far too much like hope and everything would return to normal.

                It had to. 

* * *

                 After the ordeal with the Insecticon, things returned to being quiet. Still no sign that the Decepticons had decoded any more coordinates and still no headway in finding a means to track their ship. Optimus asked Ratchet if it was common to have so much downtime, to which Ratchet had shrugged and admitted that much of their time on Earth was spent doing their best to get by with the occasional skirmish over energon. It was only when Megatron made his return that bigger battles became more frequent, but even so, much time was spent simply stocking up on what energon they could get their servos on.

                It had worked out well for Optimus. While he took a couple days off after the incident with Megatron, the Prime had eventually returned to his sparring practice sessions.

                In fact, it had gone so well that soon enough, Arcee was admitting to Ratchet that they were running out of things that they knew how to teach him. His weapon-less combat now exceeded theirs again, and his aim with his guns was impeccable. However, none of the warriors were particularly skilled with a sword. They knew enough to handle themselves if the situation arose, but nothing close to Optimus’s previous skills. And worse still, they did not have any swords in their supplies, and they were not outfitted with any. They showed him the basic moves, but had no way of actually practicing with him.

                And that was how Wheeljack quickly became a regular visitor to their base.

                This was the fourth time this week that Wheeljack had dropped by for a sparring session. Ratchet always made sure that he was working on some project or another when the Wrecker showed up so he would not have to share more than a greeting with him. Not that it was difficult when there was always something that needed fixing. It was no different this time – the ground bridge’s energy efficiency had been steadily dropping, so the medic busied himself with maintenance, hoping to get to the core of the problem.

                Or he did until the children had gathered around him, insisting that he should take a break and come watch. Ratchet had waved them off, insisting he had seen more than his fair share of sparring. Jack and Miko had given up, though Ratchet suspected that for the latter, it was because she could hear the bots starting across the base and did not want to miss a minute of the show.

                Rafael had lingered though, standing just at the periphery of Ratchet’s vision.

                “Don’t you want to go watch?”

                “Yeah,” the boy started, shifting on his feet, “but I figured you might change your mind, and we could go watch together.”

                “There’s no reason for me to go.”

                “You sure? You’ve seemed kind of stressed out lately. Or, you know, more than usual. A break could be good for you!”

                Ratchet finally turned to look down at the boy, and he still could not pinpoint what it was about Rafael, but it was hard to refuse him. It did not help that he was oddly observant and the last thing the medic wanted was for the child to be worried about him.

                So he begrudgingly agreed, scooping Rafael up and carrying him to the sparring room. 

* * *

                 The amount of progress Optimus had made was staggering to behold.

                It seemed that he and Wheeljack had already moved past teaching, although Ratchet doubted that the Wrecker was much for lessons. He seemed like the type to teach through experience alone. Regardless, they both moved with almost graceful ease, blocking and parrying as they all but danced across the floor in their battle.

                It was too easy to get lost in the spectacle of it.

                After several bouts, Wheeljack laughed as one of his sneakier attacks was blocked. “Bulk wasn’t kidding about you being a fast learner.”

                “I’ve simply studied your style,” Optimus replied, shaking the Wrecker off, shifting his stance to prepare for his next attack.

                Wheeljack considered him for a moment, tilting his head back and forth a bit as he hummed, before straightening and hilting his swords. “Good point. You need more variety.”

                Ratchet’s spark stilled when Wheeljack looked over at him.

                “Hey, Doc, you equipped with those battle scalpels things I’ve seen medics use?”

                Ratchet was fully prepared to turn down the suggestion he could already see coming. There was a reason he had not offered to spar with Optimus in the first place. Even though he had made the exception to his rule to not spar with warriors for Optimus in the past, he certainly was not going to do so with an audience of them watching, least of all Wheeljack.

                Furthermore, the last thing Ratchet needed right now was physical contact with Optimus.

                But then Optimus was looking back and forth between Wheeljack and Ratchet, optics ridges drawn in close. His battle mask shifted away as he said, “But Ratchet is a medic, not a warrior.”

                Ratchet hated the knowing smirk that Wheeljack was trying to fight back. And yet it did not stop him from carefully placing Rafael down on the floor next to Jack and Miko. Even the young warriors were watching him with strong interest, aware of the mistake Optimus had made.

                “That’s true,” Ratchet conceded, stepping out into the middle of the room. Once he was next to Wheeljack he faced Optimus, shifting his arms into blades and taking on a battle stance. He could not help grinning as Optimus’s optics blew out wide. “But I think you’ll find I’m more than capable of holding my own.”

                “Now this will be interesting,” Wheeljack commented as he moved to join the audience.

                Optimus still looked taken aback.

                “Are you certain, my friend?”

                “You know full well I’ve been fighting since before the war even started.”

                “This is not a bar fight.”

                “Oh, I know,” Ratchet replied, grin only widening. “That’s why I’ll let you take the first shot.”

                “Very well.” Optimus was clearly apprehensive, but he took a wide stance and his battle mask returned. The Prime quickly made his move, closing the distance and bringing his sword down. It was a simple move though and it was clear that Optimus was putting barely any strength into the swing. He was holding back immensely.

                He was making it too easy for Ratchet. The medic only lifted one of his blades to block it, throwing his weight into the motion to force Optimus’s blade to one side. This threw the Prime off-balance, leaving more than enough of an opening as Ratchet raised his free blade.

                Optimus went very still as the blade stopped mere inches from his neck.

                “You want to give that another try, Optimus?”

                Optimus’s optics cycled quizzically before he nodded. Ratchet stepped back and took his stance again. This time, when Optimus attacked, he used a slightly more complex combo. It was a step above his last attack, at least, but still lacked anything close to real strength behind the motions.

                On the last swing of the combo, Ratchet met Optimus’s sword with his left blade, his body already starting to twist with it. With some careful pede-work, he side-stepped Optimus before throwing himself into a spinning-jump, blades outstretched. However, as he brought the blades down, Ratchet transformed them back into servos and let his digits graze the Prime’s back and side where his blades would have sliced through in a real fight.

                When Ratchet straightened from his landing, he had to fight back a laugh at the absolutely flabbergasted look in Optimus’s optics.

                “While your back struts could have been fixed, your T-cog most likely would have been irreparable,” Ratchet started, placing one servo on his hip while the other gestured as he spoke. “Assuming of course you didn’t offline from rapid energon loss first. I suggest you try again. Maybe the third time will be the charm.”

                After taking a couple steps back and a long, hard look at Ratchet, Optimus nodded slowly. Ratchet opted to simply block and dodge this round, deftly avoiding and stopping every attack sent his way. While Optimus still held back, with each passing moment his movements grew faster, more varied, and stronger. It only took one look at the Prime’s optics to see his frantic calculations – constantly shifting his opinion of Ratchet’s skills further and further up, shocked with the results when still the medic continued to meet him move for move.

                Ratchet wondered if Optimus knew how many times he could have ended the spar again with all the openings the Prime left.

                After a few minutes of this, Ratchet decided enough was enough. With Optimus’s next lunge, Ratchet ducked and quickly shifted to his servos. While the Prime had superior strength, his frame had a high center of gravity. Optimus’s forward momentum combined with Ratchet bracing his shoulder against his hips made lifting his frame up and over his helm quick and easy. The Prime landed with a loud crash. When Ratchet turned on his heel, Optimus was scrambling to sit up, only freezing when Ratchet lightly placed one of his blades on his shoulder.

                “I think I’ve made my point.”

                Optimus tilted his helm up and to the side, looking up at Ratchet, and finally snapped out of his shock with chuckle.

                “You should have warned me that you had become a gladiator, my friend.”

                “I wouldn’t say I was,” Ratchet replied, his prideful grin softening as he offered his servo to help Optimus to his pedes. “You’re a far greater fighter than I could have ever hoped to become. But I have a huge advantage here.”

                “Oh? And what would that be?”

                “Wheeljack has sparred with you, what, four times now?” Ratchet asked. When Optimus nodded, he continued, “And in that time you already started to get a feel for his style, his go to moves, his strengths and weakness. Now, imagine if you had been sparring for the past, oh--” Ratchet shrugged, “—Let’s say four million years.”

                Realization dawned on the Prime’s face and another chuckle slipped from his voice box before he said, “You know exactly what I’ll do, likely before I do.”

                “Just about.”

                “Then we’ll have to work to even the odds again,” Optimus stated, taking a few steps back. This time when he took a stance it was a purely defensive one. “Will you start us off this time?”

                The dynamic flipped as Ratchet threw himself into a series of attacks and Optimus opted to focus all his efforts on defense. While there were times he just barely managed to catch Ratchet’s blades, Optimus was already doing far better than before, unafraid to hold anything back when it was not aimed against the medic.

                The Prime’s optics were blindingly bright, no doubt taking in each detail he could and analyzing Ratchet’s every movement. And it was quickly paying off. At the beginning, Ratchet could see a few openings come and go, but as the bout dragged on, Optimus tightened up his defense as he learned the medic’s combos, leaving little for Ratchet to use against him.

                When Optimus finally attacked, it caught Ratchet off guard, nearly ending the match. He managed to dodge though, stumbling backwards as he gathered his wits.

                “Don’t think I don’t know you’re smiling behind that mask,” Ratchet chastised, bringing his blades up to block as Optimus moved in to try another attack. It was hard to hear over their cooling fans, but he would swear he heard the Prime laugh. Ratchet would be lying to himself if he did not admit that he was also smiling.

                As the match went on and Optimus grew more and more bold, Ratchet could feel his advantage very quickly slipping. And it was not simply because the Prime was starting to figure out the rhythm of Ratchet’s techniques. Ratchet knew Optimus’s moves, the style he always fell back on, knew it all like he knew his own. But the Optimus before him was stringing them together in novel ways with a new rhythm. Ratchet had underestimated the differences that would result from Optimus puzzle-piecing his skills together under the tutelage of warriors and Wreckers instead of learning them from the most prestigious of the Elite Guard.

                Now that Optimus was comfortable sparring at his best with Ratchet, the medic realized that he was almost certainly going to lose.

                Ratchet actually yelped when he thrusted a blade at Optimus and instead of the expected parry, the Prime moved to one side and shifted his sword away to grab him by the elbow. Before the medic could stop it, Optimus pulled him with his current momentum. The second Ratchet felt his center of balance pass the threshold of no return, he knew he was going down.

                But Ratchet refused to do so without further fight.

                His free blade transformed and Ratchet grabbed the closest plating edge his digits could find. It turned out to be one of Optimus’s windshields, and Ratchet hung on for dear life, leaving it up to the Prime to decide if he would help Ratchet stay on his pedes so they would both stay upright, or take the fall with him.

                Either by choice or chance, Optimus went with the latter.

                As soon as Ratchet’s knees hit the ground he was rolling, first away so that when Optimus followed it was not to fall on top of him, but then back towards him once the Prime landed on his own hands and knees. He shoved up and out against Optimus’s shoulder before the Prime could regain his composure, flipping him to sprawl on his back. Ratchet did not think twice before swinging a leg over to straddle the Prime’s hips and grabbing his wrists, pinning them to the floor.

                However, Optimus still had that look in his optics.

                “I believe you’ve forgotten that I have the strength advantage.”

                Ratchet did not have a chance to respond before the Prime lifted one of his legs, catching Ratchet’s shin under his thigh and trapping it there, while he braced his other pede on the ground. Optimus pushed back against Ratchet’s hold, and even with his medic strength, Ratchet could not overpower the Prime. Ratchet tried to shift away, to stop himself from being flipped over, but with his one leg trapped, his mobility was greatly hindered.

                There was nothing he could do as Optimus rolled them both, leaving Ratchet flat on his back with the Prime pinning one of his servos to the floor.

                Optimus’s other servo had transformed back into his sword which he held just above Ratchet’s neck. His battle mask split and shifted away, revealing a victorious grin.

                “I believe that makes us even again.”

                Ratchet had lost. The realization drained him of his temporary boost in pride.

                Unfortunately, that left him suddenly and fully cognizant of the solid weight of Optimus’s servo against his wrist and the way his thighs were forced to spread wide around Optimus’s. The heat from Optimus’s heavy venting was pouring over his frame and their cooling fans were roaring and Optimus was so close—

                —And Optimus’s optics were cycling, watching him, and Primus he had to notice it when Ratchet shivered, notice the complete emotional shift in his medic and—

                —And Ratchet swore his spark stopped when Optimus’s field unfurled and his helm dipped down a bit closer and Ratchet felt the Prime’s thumb gently stroke his wrist.

                A loud whistling followed by a chorus of hooting from across the room brought Ratchet crashing back to his senses.

                They had an audience.

                Ratchet rebooted his voice box as he shoved his free servo against Optimus’s chassis, finding little resistance as the Prime had already started to back away. “Alright, alright, enough gloating. You beat an old medic. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

                “I am,” Optimus replied as he stood up, servo held out to help Ratchet to his pedes. “You were a formidable opponent.”

                “I hardly need the flattery,” Ratchet huffed, taking the offered assistance to stand. He was quick to pull his hand away once he had his balance. An excuse to return to his work was queuing up in his voice box – anything to make a quick escape before he made any more mistakes.

                A hard slap to the back nearly toppled Ratchet again.

                “Are you kidding? That was a great show,” Bulkhead said, grinning at Ratchet. The rest of the team had also made their way over, including the children who were practically – and in Miko’s case literally – jumping with energy.

                “That was the coolest!!”

                “No kidding. I mean, we knew you could fight, but not like _that,_ ” Jack added.

                “I must admit, I’m now curious why you had never chosen to spar with us before,” Optimus said. Ratchet released an embarrassed huff, his optics briefly darting towards the hole he had made in the sparring room wall during his bout with synth-en. His one and only time sparring with any of the young warriors on the team.

                The trio of warriors seemed to have the same line of thought. Bulkhead lightly patted Ratchet’s shoulder and Bumblebee shrugged at the medic. It was Arcee who actually spoke up, saying, “We didn’t ask if he wanted to. But you’re always more than welcome to join us, Ratchet.”

                Despite the quiet turmoil still rolling around in his tanks, Ratchet could not help the smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll consider it.”

                “Hope you do, Sunshine, ‘cause after watching that, I’d like a chance at you myself,” Wheeljack said, patting his hand against one of his hilted swords. “Not often I get a chance to trade friendly blows with another double-wielder.” Then, with an almost wicked grin, he added, “Especially if it ends like that.”

                Ratchet’s lines went cold.

                Around him the team was laughing good-naturedly. Bulkhead had turned to Wheeljack, jokingly chastising him for flirting. Arcee and Bumblebee were sharing a look and snickering. Optimus – Ratchet did not dare turn to see his reaction.

                Wheeljack looked away from Bulkhead, locking his gaze with Ratchet’s while he still wore that infuriating grin on his face.

                The shame that he had been fighting, that had been begging him to make a quick retreat, suddenly shifted into something boiling hot under Ratchet’s plating. When he walked up to Wheeljack, Ratchet held little back as he punched him in the shoulder, the ring of the impact echoing in the large room.

                “You cut that out right now,” Ratchet growled before pushing past the Wrecker.

                There was a chorus of the team members piping up, asking if he was alright. Ratchet did not look back as he waved his hand. “I have work to do,” he stated flatly.

                Ratchet silently thanked Primus that no one followed as he stalked past his work on the ground bridge, instead not stopping until he reached the relative safety of his med bay. He made a bee-line for the box of broken tools he never seemed to reach the bottom off. It was mind-numbing work which was exactly what he wanted at that moment. When he reached for the scanner on the top of the pile, however, Ratchet noticed that his servo was shaking.

                Badly.

                It honestly felt as if he was going to purge.

                Wheeljack had promised to keep his big mouth shut, and Ratchet felt like an idiot for having ever believed it for a second – that he had actually _trusted_ him. Instead the Wrecker had gone and done – done whatever that had been, and in doing so had pointed out what had transpired between Optimus and him for everyone to hear.

                And Holy Primus was that moment something Ratchet was unprepared to process. If the others had not been there, if somehow they had been alone—

                Process trees bloomed in his processor, spitting out possibilities, each one more embarrassing than the last. Ratchet quickly sought to stop them in their tracks and delete them, all the while trying to ignore the content. There was no mistaking though what nearly all of them shared: that Ratchet would not have been able to stop himself.

                There had been _want_ in Optimus’s field and Ratchet’s spark had ached in turn.

                Ratchet’s carefully sculpted façade was simply not going to last. Four million years’ worth of walls built up to protect his spark and they were crumbling around him faster than he could repair.

                He was absolutely fragged. 

* * *

                 “Knock knock.”

                Ratchet could not stop the way his engine revved lowly, more a growl than anything.

                “What do _you_ want?”

                To his credit, Wheeljack stayed where he stood, shifting from one pede to the other at the outskirt of the med bay.

                “Bulk said I should apologize, and he’s right. I hadn’t meant to ruffle your plating like that.”

                Ratchet took a few seconds to decide, but finally turned his helm to look at the Wrecker. An embarrassed grimace was pulling at Wheeljack’s mouth.

                With a long, slow ex-vent, Ratchet jerked his head to one side, silently gesturing to Wheeljack to come over. Wheeljack took the hint, glancing over his shoulder before quickly crossing the med bay to stand close to the medic.

                “Did Bulkhead accompany you for this apology?” Ratchet asked quietly.

                “Nah. I think he and the others are trying to stay out of the blast zone.”

                “Good.” Ratchet finally turned to fully face Wheeljack, and in more of a hiss than a whisper asked, “Then would you explain to me what the _frag_ you were doing in there?”

                Wheeljack scratched at the back of his neck. “I was doing you a favor.”

                “A favor?” Ratchet asked in disbelief, finding it difficult to keep his tone hushed. “A _favor_? What fragged your processor so badly that you consider humiliating me a _favor_?”

                “What—I didn’t _humiliate_ you,” Wheeljack argued, his optic ridges furrowing.

                “You specifically pointed out what happened between me and Optimus for everyone to hear.”

                “That’s why you’re mad?”

                “Of course!” Ratchet bit the inside of his cheek, willing his frame to release at least some of its tension. That had been louder than he had wanted. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to come investigating when he was discussing _this_.

                Wheeljack huffed, shaking his head before training his gaze on Ratchet’s optics. “Then you can fragging relax. Nobody else noticed anything weird about it--”

                “—Until you pointed it out!”

                “No, they didn’t. Plenty of fights end that way, bots make ‘facing jokes. They move on. Maybe if you didn’t lock yourself away in your med bay all the time, you’d know that.”

                Ratchet bristled, but some of his anxiety did unclench in his chest. He did recall overhearing plenty of crude comments and jokes among the soldiers when they sparred and wrestled. “Alright, then what exactly did you think you were doing?”

                “I was _flirting_ with you. I hadn’t realized you forgot what flirting is.”

                Ratchet stared at him, confused, before narrowing his optics. “And why in the Pits of Kaon would you want to do that?”

                “Because Optimus wanted to frag you through the floor.”

                “Wheeljack!” Ratchet sputtered before slapping his servo to his mouth. That had been far too loud. His systems started pumping coolant at a higher rate to try to combat the way his body heated at the blatant statement.

                “You can’t tell me I’m wrong. And what’s worse is you aren’t even gonna do anything about it, are you?”

                Ratchet removed his servo and whispered, barely audible, “You’re exaggerating and—and you know why I can’t – I _won’t_.”

                “Yeah, I do,” Wheeljack started, his arms uncrossing from his chest so he could point a digit at Ratchet. “It’s because you’ve got too much baggage to realize that you can have what you want and it won’t be the end of the universe.”

                “He’s going to change--”

                “—Or maybe he won’t!” When Ratchet shushed him, Wheeljack sneered, but he did lower his voice. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, Primus didn’t make Prime do anything?”

                Ratchet’s optics cycled and it took a couple reboots of his voice box before he managed to reply weakly, “What?”

                Wheeljack released a harsh vent. “Look, I know you only told me about it the one time, so I’m clearly no expert. But isn’t it just as possible that Optimus made the decision to break it off all by himself?”

                Pain burned in Ratchet’s chassis. It must have shown on his face since Wheeljack’s expression softened and he carefully reached out, his warm servo clasping onto Ratchet’s arm.

                “I don’t mean—look, what I’m saying is, maybe he had a choice, which means this time it doesn’t have to end that way. Seems to me like he’ll make a very different choice this time around.”

                “Wheeljack, I _can’t_.” Ratchet hated how pathetic he sounded and the way that Primus-forsaken hope was starting to bubble in his traitorous spark. Wheeljack’s servo squeezed his plating in a show of comfort.

                “I know. Like I said, you have too much fragging baggage to make a move.” Wheeljack’s lips pulled up a bit in a self-satisfied smirk. “Which is why I’m gonna make sure he does.”

                Ratchet peered at him, optic ridges drawn in tight, fear blooming in his processor. “I swear to Primus, if you tell him anything--”

                “I promised not to tell, and I’m sticking to that.”

                “Then what exactly do you plan on doing?” Ratchet asked. The fear lessened, but just barely, and there was dread eating at his tanks. It did not help that Wheeljack clearly looked impressed with himself.

                “If there’s one thing that will motivate a bot to get off their bumper and stake their claim, it’s competition.”

                There was a pause as Ratchet waited for further explanation, but Wheeljack offered none, simply watching and waiting for the medic to piece it together. When it finally hit Ratchet, he groaned and lifted a servo to scrub at his face.

                “ _That’s_ why you flirted with me? Of all the idiotic things I’ve ever heard…”

                “Hey, it works. Trust me.”

                “It absolutely will not. Orion was never the jealous type, let alone Optimus.”

                Wheeljacks grin grew wider.

                “You didn’t see his face, did you?”

                Ratchet stared at him, his processor hiccupping for a second. “What--?”

                “Ratchet?” There, walking out from behind the corner across the med bay, stood Optimus. The Prime grew very still upon spotting them, staring.

                That was when Ratchet realized how they must have looked – standing so close together, Wheeljack’s servo on his arm as they spoke in hushed tones in the otherwise empty med bay. And worst still, all of this after everything that had transpired in the sparring room.

                Ratchet panicked.

                “O-Optimus!” He quickly stepped back and away from Wheeljack, yanking his arm out of the Wrecker’s grasp. Unfortunately his elbow hit the box of broken tools he had been working on and sent it tumbling. Ratchet yelped, but as fast as he spun on his heels, it was still too late. The medic could only watch as, with a loud crash and cacophony of clanging, the box landed on its side, tools bouncing off each other and onto the floor, some of them rolling away.

                There were definitely some that now looked broken beyond repair.

                Ratchet slumped as he stared at the mess.

                Wheeljack audibly cleared his voice box from behind him.

                “Did you need something, boss?”

                “I had not meant to interrupt anything,” Optimus started, his voice uneasy. Ratchet’s eyes grew wide and he snapped his helm around, turning quickly and speaking before Optimus could continue.

                “You weren’t interrupting anything.”

                “Yet,” Wheeljack drawled suggestively.

                “ _Don’t_ ,” Ratchet warned, shooting him a deathly glare. Wheeljack winked at him, even as the medic shoved him as he headed towards Optimus.

                Ratchet could not quite place the expression on Optimus’s face. The Prime was clearly trying to keep it neutral. However, his lips were tightly drawn, the corners curled down ever so slightly. His optics were bright and calculating as they lingered on Wheeljack.

                “Optimus?”

                And just like that, Optimus’s face eased and his optics softened as his gaze shifted to Ratchet. His field unraveled from where he had held it close. Ratchet had considered resisting field communication, but ultimately found there was nothing to worry about. The heat from earlier was gone, leaving only a warm – and safe – familiarity.

                “I simply wanted to check with you regarding the ground bridge. Since your tools are still there, I was uncertain if you had finished your maintenance project.”

                Ratchet hesitated for a moment, not wanting to admit to having abandoned the project to escape to the safety of his med bay. “Ah, no, I’m not. I got side-tracked, looking for a tool to make some of it easier, but--” The medic looked back and could not help heaving an ex-vent at the broken tools still sprawled across the floor. “I’ll get back to the ground bridge once I’ve cleaned up here.”

                “Let me help,” Optimus offered.

                “I’m sure you have better things to do--”

                “Between the three of us, we’ll have this done in no time,” Wheeljack added.

                Ratchet faltered. All he had wanted was to give his spark a break. Instead he was trapped between the two mechs he was specifically trying to escape, both of them offering to help clean up his mess.

                If this was not the epitome of what his lot in life had become—

                The med bay computer lit up with a notification that a call was being made to the command center. It was Fowler.

                “By the Allspark,” Ratchet whispered thankfully as the mess was abandoned to go see what the agent wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that I did change the number of chapters -- I underestimated how much I had to write before the last chapter.
> 
> Also I wanted to take a moment to thank you all!! I can't believe this fic has reached 1000 hits and over 100 kudos. You all are so great. <3


	6. Chapter 6

                To say that the day had taken unexpected turns would have been an understatement.

                If MECH could be relied upon for one thing, it was to be a royal pain in the aft. Between the horrific dissection of Breakdown and the T-Cog they had stolen from Starscream, they had managed to eventually find the last piece of the puzzle – energon. And now they had an Optimus Prime duplicate driving around, first attempting to drive Fowler off a bridge, and then attacking a human military base.

                In the end though, while MECH may have been able to duplicate Optimus’s frame, they had nowhere near the technological knowledge to compete with actual cybertronians. They had to rely on driving their fake bot where they wanted it to go and it had to be controlled remotely. It was more similar to those toy cars Rafael liked to drive around the base than Optimus Prime.

                Although Ratchet supposed he should give it a bit more credit than that. The fake bot had managed to knock out each team member one by one until it made its way to the real Optimus. And Optimus would have been in serious trouble had Fowler not insisted on being dropped onto the location and found Silas.

                Ratchet was frankly unwilling to give MECH anything but his unadulterated hatred though when the team bridged back to base. Optimus had looked, of all things, apologetic as Bulkhead and Wheeljack shouldered him through the portal, his servo pressed to a wound that was leaking energon down his frame in blue streaks.

                Ratchet knew he must have had a furious look on his face considering Wheeljack stepped aside without a question for him to get a better look. The wound had gone nearly all the way through Optimus’s abdomen, a distortion in his back plating showing where the weapon had finally lost its momentum and come to a stop.

                Ratchet’s processor was already lining up the hole with the warped metal and comparing the line of injury with Optimus’s biomechanical layout. Nothing irreparable, though given the amount of energon leaking out, it was possible one of the main tubes had been breached and would have to be sealed immediately.

                “It will be fine, won’t it?” Optimus asked, his voice calm, but his field was trembling against Ratchet’s. It shocked the medic out of his thoughts for a moment -- the Prime had suffered far, far worse injuries and had dealt with them with quiet acceptance. But those would have all been forgotten by now. Soldiers’ first major wounds almost always made them panic worse than later ones since they had no way of gauging how fixable they were. This Optimus did not remember the countless times he had been stabbed so this would feel like his first.

                It was either that, or Ratchet had simply never known what Optimus had hidden by scrambling his field all these years.

                “Of course,” Ratchet offered, slipping his arm around Optimus’s back and bracing his shoulder under Optimus’s arm to support his upper body. “It’s why you hired me as your CMO.” He then twisted his body towards the Prime so he could then wrap his other arm around the back of Optimus’s knees, applying force until Optimus’s pedes left the ground. Bulkhead let go once Ratchet had the Prime settled in his arms with a harsh ex-vent. With Optimus’s frame closer to horizontal, the flow of energon out of the wound should slow.

                The arm around the back of Ratchet’s shoulders held fast as Optimus started saying that it was highly unnecessary, but he stopped when Ratchet tutted him and headed towards the med bay.

                “Bulkhead, get me some energon cubes to make sure we have enough for the transfusion. Arcee, keep in contact with Agent Fowler. And Bumblebee--” the medic paused in his speech before calling over his shoulder, “—keep the children out from under our pedes.”

                Anxiety still lingered in Ratchet’s wiring, but Ratchet had spent his whole career working through the entire spectrum of emotions. It was easy to let medic protocols take over, especially for a wound like this. It was deep, certainly, but beyond the energon leaking it was simply a matter of time and supplies to fix Optimus up.

                Ratchet did not even react emotionally when Wheeljack showed up with Bulkhead carrying energon cubes, asking if there was anything else they could do. Instead he had waved them off, telling them to check with Arcee about the situation with Fowler, and to leave the healing to him.

                Optimus asked Ratchet questions, about the extent of his injury, how long it would take his auto-repair systems to fully set the welding, what exactly had been injured and how, what tools he was using and for what purpose—and the medic kindly answered each question as they came. It was just like he had acted at the beginning of the war. When Optimus was worried about something, he would research it, find out everything he could to make sure he was fully prepared. And, sometimes, simply having more knowledge seemed to put him at ease.

                So Ratchet started to talk through what he was doing as he worked. What scans he was doing, what they showed, what he was doing with his tools, what parts of Optimus’s anatomy he was fixing and what purpose they served.

                Optimus’s field finally quieted. It was not long before his optics offlined – just to rest them, he had assured Ratchet when the medic told him it was fine if he wanted to recharge, that it was normal after such an injury.

                For all of the Prime’s protests that he was fine, barely another ten minutes went by before he slipped into unconsciousness.

                Ratchet allowed himself a handful of seconds to appreciate the almost serene look on Optimus’s face before he slipped back into his role as a medic.

* * *

                “Well?” Ratchet asked in lieu of a greeting when familiar pede steps hit his audials. The field that easily pressed to his confirmed what he already knew.

                “Fowler did have to call me over to speak with his superior, but that seemed to be satisfactory to them.”

                Ratchet released a relieved ex-vent.

                The fallout from the fake bot incident had threatened their current living situation. While Ratchet liked to believe they would have made due if they had had to find somewhere else to settle, the fact was that they owed the humans everything for the base and technology they had supplied them, as rudimentary as it all was. If they were forced to leave, it would have meant losing everything they had managed to scrap together over the last few years.

                “So you were on your best behavior.”

                “Of course,” Optimus assured, placing his hand on Ratchet’s shoulder as he stepped up beside him. “So relax, my friend.”

                The weight of Optimus’s servo was soothing, as it always was, but it was hard to appreciate when even such a simple touch made his spark race. While Ratchet had thought this flare up had been bad before, ever since they sparred every little thing would send his spark pounding in its casing. It was only millennia of practice that got him through without embarrassing himself.

                So when his frame refused to relax, Ratchet huffed bemusedly and replied, “Since when has good news ever stopped me from worrying?”

                Optimus only hummed in response to that. He seemed more interested in Ratchet’s work table where dozens of various tools and other bits of technology were laid out, one of which the medic was currently trying to piece together. "Are these from that box?”

                “Unfortunately,” Ratchet grumbled. “It was all junk to start with, and now some of it is broken beyond repair, so I’m seeing what can be salvaged and what needs to just be melted down.”

                “Is there any way I can help you?”

                “You’re hardly a mechanic,” Ratchet pointed out, curiously glancing to his side to consider the Prime.

                “That is true,” Optimus admitted with a helm tilt, “but I still feel responsible for causing this when you already have so much you do around the base.”

                Anxiety flickered to life and danced through Ratchet’s circuits.

                “It was an accident.”

                “Caused by my presence.”

                Ratchet wanted to argue further, but also absolutely did _not_ want to go into any details about that sequence of events. So he silently weighed his options.

                “This is only because I know you won’t let me win this, even though you _aren’t_ at fault,” Ratchet relented. He reached to push some of the junk on the right side of his work table further away from him, creating a clearer separation of them from the rest. “That all needs to be taken apart and cleaned for melting down. I assume you can handle that much.”

                “I’m sure I can make due.” Optimus picked up a small rotary engine, turning it slowly in his servos and examining it. “Although I will need the proper tools.”

                Ratchet grabbed the tool cart and moved it to sit between them. “I trust you’ll put them back where they belong.”

                “Yes. The last thing I wish to do is make even more work for you,” Optimus replied with an apologetic smile.

                After a glance and small smile in return, Ratchet turned back to the scanner in his servos. Slowly the anxiety eased from his lines. Working side by side with Optimus was comforting, their fields casually intermingled.

                “May I ask you something, Ratchet?”

                The medic rolled his optics, his ex-vent almost a laugh. “When have I ever said no to that?”

                “Why did you not mention that you knew Wheeljack?”

                Ratchet’s servos stilled.

                “What?” he asked, dumbstruck.

                Optimus continued to keep his servos busy, although when Ratchet turned his helm to look at the Prime, it was easy to see he was more fiddling with the motor than actually taking it apart. “I thought that perhaps it was simply my mistake and that I had missed any mentions of previous times you had worked together or lost the memories of them. But when I inquired with Bulkhead, he confirmed that as far as he was aware, neither of you had said anything about meeting before our time on Earth.”

                “Because we didn’t,” Ratchet lied and it burned like acid on his glossa. But he had to stay firm. Wheeljack had been good enough to keep his promise, so it would be foolish to throw away all the work they had put into their fabrication. There was no need to admit to the affair they had, if it could even be called that. There was no _reason_ to talk about it.

                Disappointment flickered in Optimus’s field.

                “If you do not wish to discuss it, I will not push. I do hope though that you know that I would not be unkind.”

                “That’s not—I know you wouldn’t be,” Ratchet assured, guilt thick in his processor. “But there’s nothing to tell. We’ve never met before.”

                “You may keep your secrets,” Optimus insisted with a frown, “but I do ask that you not lie to me.”

                Ratchet opened his mouth, already queuing up a retort, but it stilled in his voice box. His spark was twisting in on itself in his chest painfully tight. Admitting the truth would be humiliating, but surely it could not feel worse than this. And it had been him who wanted it to be a secret, insisted really, not Wheeljack. He doubted the Wrecker would mind. Besides, Optimus clearly already had suspicions, considering how he had found the two. His own theories would have likely been worse than the truth.

                Finally he steadied his gaze on the work table.

                “We only worked at the same base for seven months, and that was ages ago. Nothing significant or important.”

                “And yet you wished to hide it.”

                Maybe Optimus would judge him for it. It would be painful, but it could convince the Prime to give up on him. Ratchet could finally go back to the way of life he knew – feelings unrequited but at least it never hurt like this.

                Ratchet had to reboot his voice box before admitting, “I was embarrassed.”

                There was a lull in the conversation. Ratchet did not dare tear his eyes away from the table.

                Optimus cleared his voice box. “Were the two of you, ah--” he started, pausing a moment, no doubt to pick his words carefully, “—romantically involved?”

                “What—no, Primus, no, absolutely _not_ ,” Ratchet spluttered as he finally looked up at Optimus. The Prime appeared taken aback. Ratchet had to cycle a deep ventilation before continuing, “I would never consider anything serious with that — that _miscreant_. We simply—it was just—” Ratchet optics darted away as shame welled up in his tanks. “What we had was purely physical, nothing more.”

                Optimus’s field wavered, difficult to read.

                “I see. Then the other day, did I walk in on—?”

                The Prime did not get to finish his question as Ratchet interrupted with a noise of disgust. “I have no desire to repeat that mistake, and he already knows that.” Optimus continued to look at him, his field pressing curiosity, and finally Ratchet relented, explaining, “He was apologizing for making a slagger of himself. He has poor taste in jokes.”

                Neither statement was a lie, per se.

                “So he’s not pursuing you?”

                “Hardly.” Ratchet turned his frame back to the work table, focusing on the scanner, twisting it in his servos to try to remember just what he was doing with it. “It was a matter of convenience. We didn’t get along and frankly, I doubt he would have given me a second glance in any other situation.”

                “I don’t know about that, my friend. You’d be a catch for anyone lucky enough.”

                Ratchet snorted derisively despite the way the compliment made his spark swell. “Now who’s lying?”

                “I mean every word,” Optimus asserted. He plucked the rotor from the motor he had been working on, placing it on the table before examining the object, finding the next piece to work at until it came off. Ratchet wondered for a moment if the Prime was purposely avoiding his gaze. “I can only assume he wasn’t the only one.”

                There was that odd flicker in Optimus’s field again. And, yet again, it was gone before Ratchet could decipher it.

                It did not help that Ratchet was very solidly focusing on not letting the creeping panic set in. He had _never_ spoken with Optimus about this sort of thing, had never disclosed anything about his interfacing habits after they ended their affair. It was an unwritten rule. Yet here he was, standing next to Optimus who was still just as much Orion, who was gentle as he asked for more information, and Ratchet could not find a way to keep his mouth shut.

                “No,” Ratchet admitted, his mouth quirking in a bitter half-smile. He had no idea what to do with the scanner in his servos, not remembering what he had checked and what he had not, so he just rolled it between them. “But he is one of very few. Even if I _was_ attractive with a sparkling personality, I never had much spare time as Chief Medical Officer. I’ve had the odd arrangement here and there, and a failed attempt at courting, but that’s it.”

                This time when Optimus’s field shifted for only the briefest of moments, it was not like before. Whatever emotion had slipped past him into his field, it had been a pleasant one. Ratchet glanced over at the Prime and yes, there it was – the tell-tale pinching at the corner of Optimus’s lips. He was trying to hold back a smile.

                Self-conscious shame filled Ratchet’s chassis.

                “‘Not unkind’ my aft,” Ratchet all but spat quietly, scowling.

                “What?” The medic could see out of his periphery that Optimus had finally turned his helm, staring at him, his field solidly shifting towards confusion and concern.

                Ratchet only flicked his gaze to meet Optimus’s for a moment.

                “I know when I’m being laughed at.”

                Optimus field flared out, as if trying to grasp Ratchet, to wrap him up in it.

                “I’m not,” Optimus said assuredly, moving so his whole frame was towards Ratchet. Still, the medic refused to look at him again.

                “I felt that spike in your field and I _know_ you were trying not to smile.”

                “Oh, no, Ratchet, I wasn’t—that wasn’t humor,” Optimus said. “I swear to you, I would never mock you.”

                “Then what was it?” Ratchet finally let his focus shift back to the Prime. Optimus lips were pressed tightly together, his optics cycling, considering his words carefully.

                “You _are_ attractive,” he started, this time allowing his mouth curling up, “and while sparkling may not be the word for it, I think your personality is very engaging. So I had assumed you would have had quite a number of lovers.”

                Ratchet narrowed his optics when no further explanation was given. “And what do you find so pleasant about my failing to meet your expectation.”

                Optimus was the one to glance away this time. With his field so entrenched in Ratchet’s, there was no way for him to hide the way it was warming. The Prime looked, of all things, embarrassed.

                “My reasons are very selfish,” Optimus admitted softly.

                “Selfish?”

                The Prime actually shifted a bit from one pede to the other, nodding.

                “It’s selfish, but I am—” He stopped, cycling a vent, before finally saying, “I had selfishly hoped you had not found another.”

                Several seconds went by as Ratchet simply stared at the Prime, aware that his jaw was slack and his optics were blown wide. He rebooted his audials. Checked his short term memory for the audio file, listened to it a few times, and each time it repeated the same thing back to him. There was no way for him to quell his spark as it seemed to spiral out of control.

                “You remember that.” It was no longer a question, just a statement, yet he could not keep the disbelief from his voice.

                Optimus’s optics were piercing and curious.

                “Remember what?”

                Ratchet had to reboot his voice box twice before it was cleared of the static that was racing across his circuits. “Us. Before the war. When we were, ah—” The static caught up with him again. With a third reboot, Ratchet managed, “Well, you know.”

                Optimus’s smile in response was blindingly sweet as he nodded.

                “I do. My former self was kind enough to leave me that much.” The Prime’s smile faltered slightly. “You did not realize that, did you?”

                One of Ratchet’s servos had found the edge of the tool cart, gripping it tightly. He was overwhelming aware that it was all that separated them, his last defense as everything else crumbled around him.

                “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how your amnesia worked until recently, and even then, there was always a possibility that you had forgotten that too. I would have asked but if you hadn’t remembered—”

                “—But I did,” Optimus interrupted. His field had completely enveloped Ratchet, and he let it, let himself be wrapped up in the warmth. “I very clearly remember that I love you.”

                Ratchet’s spark _sang_.

                He tried to respond, opening his mouth to say something, anything, but the words all died in his voice box. He did not want to ruin this, to do anything that could snap him out of whatever daydream this was, because there was simply no way this could be real. Ratchet had lived nearly his whole life knowing he would never hear those words again, let alone so easily, without any concern or hesitation.

                “Do you?” Optimus’s ridges ever so slightly creased, brilliant blue optics watching him carefully, _hopefully_.

                “Remember?” Ratchet finally managed. It was as if a dam had been broken as words started falling from his lips. “Of course I do. It was a long time ago, certainly, but my memory functions just fine--”

                “No,” Optimus said, his tone gentle as he stopped Ratchet. “I should have been more specific. Do you still love me?”

                And reality came back all too painfully. It felt as if Ratchet’s entire chassis was suddenly crushed under the last four million years. His venting stalled and his spark ached and burned and clenched. His processor immediately supplied no, he was not, because that was what Ratchet had told himself all these years.

                —that it had just been an affair, something fleeting that had left unfortunate lingering sentiments and flare ups; a disease of his processor that he constantly shoved down and ignored until a cure could be found, a way to make it _stop_ ; an unspoken wish that he would online one day and look at Optimus and feel nothing but friendly affection, wanting anything that could make it so the past would never make his spark ache again, that it would stop hurting, _Primus_ all he wanted was for it to stop _hurting_ —

                Ratchet wanted to say no, but it had always been a lie.

                “I tried to stop,” Ratchet whispered. “Primus knows I tried, Optimus, but I couldn’t do it, I’m _sorry—_ ”

                Optimus’s digits felt cool against his overheated face as they tilted his helm back up, and Optimus’s face was twisted with sorrow.

                “You don’t need to apologize for that.”

                “I do. I’m not supposed to feel this way anymore. I’m sorry—”

                “No,” Optimus said, his servo pressing to cup the side of Ratchet’s helm. He was leaning forward, across the tool cart between them, his thumb so gentle as it brushed across his cheek. “You don’t.”

                Then Optimus kissed him. The Prime’s lips were so softly pressed against his, soft and warm even against Ratchet’s overheated frame, soft and undemanding, and then he was pulling away, mouth opening to say something else.

                Ratchet chased his mouth, catching his bottom lip as one of his servos reached out to curl behind his helm, holding him in place so he would not leave, would just stay and kiss him for a little bit longer, _please_ —

                And that was it. The second kiss led to yet another, the chaste kisses quickly giving way to something longer, lips pressing closer. Ratchet could feel desperation spilling out from his spark and was floored when Optimus responded in kind. The third kiss bled into the next until it there was no real beginning or end, just Optimus’s mouth against his and those large servos cradling his helm. Ratchet all but clung to him, grabbing at his shoulders with scrambling digits.

                The cart jostled between them and suddenly Optimus was pulling away. Ratchet’s servos tightened their grip, something like “don’t” or “wait” or “Optimus” slipping from his voice box before it became apparent that the Prime was moving around the tool cart, pushing it away carefully as he descended again to capture another kiss from Ratchet. The medic’s back hit the work table, trapped between it and Optimus’s frame, and Ratchet shuddered as pleasure flooded his processor. Optimus’s servos were hot against his plating as they followed the seams from Ratchet’s shoulders down his back, one grabbing at the medic’s hip flare while the other wrapped around his back and pulled their frames against each other.

                Ratchet in-vented sharply and a moan escaped as he arched up into the contact, charge jumping between their frames as metal met metal. The sounds were lost under the whirr of their cooling fans, and when Ratchet caught Optimus’s bottom lip between his dentae, the Prime’s engine growled, further obscuring the needy noise Ratchet made as the vibrations transferred through his plating.

                And then Optimus dipped his helm to the side and down, mouthing at Ratchet’s neck cabling, leaving the medic’s repetition of his Prime’s name unobscured.

                Their fields were completely intermeshed with one another, feeding into one another, burning hot with longing and need and _love_ , Primus strike him where he stood but Ratchet could feel Optimus’s love all the way down to his core and he wanted more, _needed_ more.

                “Ratchet,” Optimus murmured and Ratchet could feel it against his plating, the caress of those lips and the heat from his ex-vent. “My dear, dear Ratchet.”

                “Optimus, I—”

                A short, sharp beep cut through the fog in Ratchet’s processor. He tilted his helm further to one side, granting Optimus better access to the lower parts of his neck, as he cycled his optics, glancing in the direction of the sound.

                And then Ratchet froze, a whine stopping dead in his voice box as his optics widened.

                Even after he rebooted them, that was most definitely Bumblebee standing across the med bay, his optics wide and bright as he stood stock still.

                “Oh scrap,” Ratchet said, barely more than an ex-vent. His tone caught Optimus by surprise, the Prime pulling away to look at his face and then to follow his gaze. Once he saw Bumblebee he straightened and took a quick step back from Ratchet.

                It took everything Ratchet had to loosen his servos from their grip on the Prime and let him move away, because every pulse of his spark begged him to hold tight, to not let Optimus go, to push reality away for just a little longer, just one more kiss touch _grind_ —

                Already Ratchet could feel the doubt and regret that had been curling in his processor trickle out along his sensornet, freezing his circuits in their wake.

                “Bumblebee, I – I apologize--”

                This was a mistake. He had made a mistake.

                “::—Oh, uh, no, it’s ok, I should have commed or—or something! I just heard noises and thought, well, not this but—::”

                This was not supposed to happen. _He was not supposed to let this happen_.

                “—It’s fine, you couldn’t have known—”

                He was setting himself up for sparkbreak all over again. Optimus would eventually decide he could not afford to be selfish again and leave Ratchet like he had before and he could not do that again, his spark could not take that rejection _again_.

                “::—Still, sorry, I’ll just leave you two to it—::”

                The regret gripped Ratchet’s spark and burst into panic.

                “I have to go,” Ratchet stated, trying and mostly succeeding in keeping his tone flat as he sent a manual command for his cooling fans to shut off. Optimus turned his helm to look at him, ridges furrowed as Ratchet slipped past him and took long, quick strides towards the command center.

                “Ratchet?”

                He gritted his dentae and ignored Optimus, avoiding Bumblebee’s optics as he walked past him without a word. Arcee and Bulkhead were chatting in the command center, at first only glancing over to say hello, but something must have given him away as the large mech’s expression shifted to one of concern.

                “You alright, Ratch?”

                “Just need some air,” Ratchet replied tersely.

                And then Optimus’s field was there against his back, pressing for access, but Ratchet pulled his field in tighter in denial. Still, the Prime followed behind him, his longer legs allowing him to quickly catch up.

                “Where are you going?” Optimus asked. The medic could hear the confusion and concern in his voice.

                “Out.”

                “Let me come with you--”

                Optimus’s servo was warm against his shoulder plating and the contact made it impossible to hide his field completely from the Prime’s; he had to feel it twisting with self-loathing.

                His optics widened. “Ratchet--”

                Ratchet jerked his shoulder away from Optimus’s hold.

                “Don’t!”

                Optimus was staring at him. They all were – Arcee and Bulkhead, shocked into silence, and Bumblebee still standing awkwardly by the med bay.

                Ratchet felt completely and utterly exposed, as if his chest had been ripped open and his spark was spilling his every secret out to lie at their feet.

                They could all see for themselves how fragging pathetic he was.

                Without a second thought, Ratchet transformed into his vehicle mode, tires squealing as he revved his engine high and raced out of the command center. Not seconds later, he could hear from behind him the telltale click and whirring of someone else transforming before he had even made it past the archway of the tunnel. There was no mistaking the rumble of that large truck engine as Optimus followed.

                The panic was all-consuming as Ratchet gunned it through the tunnel.

                Ratchet knew that while he was not the fastest on the team, he was faster than their Prime. So once the medic was clear of the tunnel, his engine revved higher and higher as he accelerated, refusing to shift gears until he had to, pushing his systems for all the power they contained to put as much distance as he could between them.

                ::Ratchet, I don’t understand—::

                The commlink fizzled and went silent when Ratchet turned it off.

                Optimus’s horn blared behind him as the distance continued to grow.

                And then Ratchet watched in his mirrors as Optimus transformed back to his rootmode without slowing first, pedes skidding across the gravel and dirt.

                When Optimus shouted the medic’s name, his voice boomed out like thunder. Ratchet remembered it from when they fought on battle fields that spread out for miles and the din of gunfire and explosions deafened everything but the Prime’s powerful voice. It always felt as if it rattled in his very spark casing, leaving no room for argument.

                The panic shattered.

                Ratchet came to a screeching halt.

                Once back in his vehicle mode, it was only a few seconds before Optimus pulled up beside the medic and again shifted to his rootmode. Ratchet hesitated, wanted nothing more than to hide in his vehicle mode, but ultimately followed suit. Both of their frames heaved as they vented harshly.

                Ratchet could not find it in him to look Optimus in the face.

                The Prime shifted on his pedes, and for a moment the medic thought he was going to approach him, try to touch him again, and Ratchet did not know if he wanted him to, or prayed that he would do anything but.

                Optimus did not come any closer, nor did he speak. He stood there, venting and waiting.

                No matter how many times Ratchet tried to reboot and clear his voice box, static lingered, born of the damned charge still arcing between his plating and the aching turmoil of his spark.

                “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Ratchet admitted quietly, unsure if it would be audible over the sound of their cooling systems.

                A whisper of Optimus’s field brushed against his own, but still, Ratchet denied it. Optimus’s field retreated altogether this time.

                “What happened after I became Prime?” Optimus asked, and a pang of guilt hit Ratchet’s processor at how rough his voice was. It had been ages since he had had to use his battlefield voice – had using it so suddenly strained his voice box? “No, that’s—no. What I mean is, why did we break up?”

                Ratchet’s entire frame went stiff, his plating pulled in tightly. The memory file spilled out in his processor, vivid and perfectly preserved and painful.

                “Because you’re no longer Orion Pax,” Ratchet said, a little louder now, static fading in and out as he spoke. “You’re Optimus Prime. And as Prime, your duty is to Primus, to Cybertron, to all cybertronians.” There was absolutely no joy in the smile that pulled at Ratchet’s mouth. “A Prime can’t have a favorite.”

                Optimus’s servos fisted at his sides.

                “The Matrix did not replace my spark, Ratchet. It is true that much has changed, but I am still Orion at my core--”

                “Those were your words,” Ratchet interrupted, the sad smile wavering and twisting at the corners. His tanks churned. He could only hope that the cleansing fluid threatening to spill from his optics would hold off.

                Optimus’s servos flexed.

                “I ended it.”

                Ratchet nodded, and when he in-vented, it hitched.

                “I don’t understand why I felt that way, Ratchet, but I assure you I don’t agree with that now. I see no reason why being Prime should change us.”

_Us_. For Optimus, it would have felt as if no time at all had passed since his memories of when they were together. The last couple months would have likely felt like a hiccup, a pause as he figured out how to fix it, how to have _his_ Ratchet back, and return to what he knew.

                Warnings pinged on Ratchet’s HUB that the tightness of his fisted servos was threatening to damage his sensornet receptors.

                “You also said things like that in the beginning. Said that even if Primus himself decreed you should stop, you would continue to love me.”

                “I would—”

                “You didn’t.” Moisture was gathering against his optics. “You stopped loving me. And you will again.”

                Optimus took a step towards Ratchet, one of his servos relaxing and reaching out towards him as he said, “I can’t believe that.”

                Ratchet took two steps back.

                “It doesn’t matter if you believe it because it happened!” Static laced Ratchet’s words as wet trails streaked down his face. “You’re too important to belong to just one mech, and I accepted that. What happened just now – it was a mistake, I shouldn’t have let that happen, so please, just—just stop!”

                Optimus did not take another step, but his servo reached out further, digits further unfurled and open.

                “Will you look at me?” Ratchet offlined his optics, his mouth clenched tight, his frame shuddering with a shaky in-vent. “Ratchet, _please_ , look at me.”

                Optimus’s optics were dim and flickering, optic ridges knotted together and his mouth twisted. Ratchet wondered if the Prime’s spark was aching as badly as his.

                “Can we sit and talk? I promise I will ask nothing more of you, but I can’t stand to see you like this, especially knowing that I have caused it without knowing how. I want to understand what happened.”

                It was tempting. To just sit with Optimus and finally talk about it, to spill what he had kept locked away for so long. But no – even just looking at Optimus hurt, another outburst threatening to spill out.

                Ratchet shook his head. “I—I can’t. Not like this.”

                “Then,” Optimus started, pausing, clearing his voice box, starting again, “then later. When you feel you can. Please.”

                After a long moment, and a long, trembling ex-vent, Ratchet nodded.

                “Will you come back to the base?”

                “Not yet,” Ratchet said, rubbing his servos at his face, wiping away the cleansing fluid. Thankfully none replaced it, the spike in pain starting to settle into something he could handle. “I need a long drive.” A bitter, hollow chuckle escaped him. “I need time to regain at least some semblance of my dignity.”

                “Ratchet—”

                “I’ll turn my commlink back on,” Ratchet promised, following through as he said it. “And you’ll be able to track my position, so it’s not like you won’t know where I am.”

                Optimus was still frowning.

                “You will be back, won’t you?”

                Ratchet was not sure if he wanted to laugh or start crying anew. Some things simply never changed.

                “Of course. I can’t very well trust you to take care of yourself, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, you guys!!!!! You guys blew up my comment section last chapter. <3 I haven't taken the time yet to thank you all individually, but I just want to say thank you all so much! I hope you continue to enjoy!!


	7. Chapter 7

                “What?”

                Optimus was staring down at his servos clasped in his lap. His shoulders were slumped and his field pulled in tight against his armor.

                “We can’t keep doing this.”

                Ratchet opened his mouth, but for several seconds nothing came out.

                Optimus’s message had been polite and apologetic, making it clear that he knew Ratchet was on duty and he should feel free to ignore the invitation, but that he would like a chance to speak with him. It had been a week since they had last had a chance to be alone together, so Ratchet had not even thought twice before leaving First Aid to manage the med bay on his own.

                And when Ratchet arrived, Optimus had been unable to keep his servos off of him, pressing into transformation seams and constantly pulling his lover closer and barely leaving either of them a chance to even vent, let alone speak. There had been desperation flooding Optimus’s field as he yanked Ratchet down into his lap and kissed him with a fiery need. And Ratchet had easily given his lover what he wanted, wrapping his arms around Optimus’s shoulders and shifting his panel away so that the Prime could push up into him.

                It was true that when they were finished, Optimus had been unusually guarded, but Ratchet had assumed it was the stress of his new position. The last few times they had met, Optimus had expressed his unending list of concerns and fears that he could not be the Prime he needed to be, feeling inadequate and out of his depths. So Ratchet had expected that, had expected that Optimus would need his support.

                At least until the medic had finished cleaning himself up and Optimus had blurted out _that_.

                Ratchet bristled.

                “You’re the one who thought it would be best if we continued to keep this a secret,” he pointed out, doing his best to keep his own emotions in check. Orion had supported Ratchet during his medical school days – the least he could do was support his lover in his new position as Prime. “You already know I wouldn’t mind making it public.”

                Optimus servos tightened against each other as he replied, “You know I can’t.”

                Ratchet bit his glossa on several things he wanted to say. Instead he moved to stand before Optimus, reaching out to lightly stroke along his helm. The Prime stiffened, and for a moment Ratchet thought he might actually reject the touch. However, while he did not lean into the servo, he did not move away either.

                “I know. But I also know where the High Council can shove all their expectations of you.” When Optimus’s mouth twitched, nearly smiling, Ratchet huffed softly and continued, “Besides, you’re already Prime. What’s the worst they can do? Complain?”

                Optimus’s optics darkened.

                “They could petition for you to lose your position, claiming I gave it to you out of favoritism.”

                “Let them have it.”

                “ _Ratchet_ ,” Optimus admonished, finally looking up to meet the medic’s optics. “You need to be my CMO.”

                “Is that you saying that, or the Matrix?”

                Optimus’s lips pressed together tightly before he replied, “Both. I need you by my side, but I also know that the Autobots need you in that position.”

                Ratchet’s spark skipped at the suddenly realization that he might actually be important.

                With a slow ex-vent, Ratchet nodded, relenting. “Fine. So then we’ll just have to continue sneaking around like this.”

                “We can’t.”

                “It’s not like we have any other option, Orion.”

                Optimus looked back down at his servos, his optic ridges drawn in tightly, but otherwise nothing escaped his field. “We can end it.”

                “No.”

                “Ratchet—”

                “ _No,_ ” Ratchet insisted, holding Optimus’s helm between his hands and tilting it so that his lover was looking at him again. “It’s already bad enough that you have to change yourself for those sparkless politicians. I hate seeing you so stiff and serious, like some elite slaggers. I’m not about to let them take you from me too.”

                Optimus’s optics flickered before he offlined them for a moment, venting. His field shifted oddly. When he rebooted his optics, they were even and emotionless.

                “That’s who I need to be if we’re going to win this war. Not just for the Council,” he specified when Ratchet opened his mouth to argue, “but for my people. They follow me, expecting a Prime. I was chosen to live for them and I cannot ignore that responsibility.”

                “And you’re going to take the Council’s word on how to be a Prime? Take one long look at Sentinel and tell me the Council knows a good Prime when they see one.”

                “Alpha Trion was one of the original Thirteen,” Optimus said, “and I carry the wisdom of the other Primes. I don’t have to rely on the Council to know what I must strive for. And this – I have come to realize that I cannot allow this situation to continue.”

                Ratchet’s spark clenched, his servos lifting away from where they had held Optimus, as if burned. “You called me here to end it—to end _us_.”

                Optimus frowned deeply, a flicker of emotion back on his face. “I’m sorry, Ratchet, but I cannot continue to cling to who I was. It’s – it’s selfish.”

                “Selfish?” Ratchet asked, his servos fisting, the roiling in his spark manifesting as anger, trying to hide what lay beneath. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized that my caring about you made you feel fragging _selfish_.”

                Finally, something that looked like pain crossed Optimus’s face. “Ratchet, that’s not what I meant. It was nothing you have done that brought me to this conclusion. I simply cannot afford to want anything for myself anymore.”

                Ratchet threw his servos up in disbelief, saying, “You can’t want anything? Since when? You do realize that under that Matrix, you’re still a mech like the rest of us, right?”

                “I have to strive to be better,” Optimus insisted.

                “You didn’t seem to have a problem with wanting something when you were fragging me not five minutes ago!”

                Optimus’s wall cracked further with that, his eyes widening as he looked away, shame all but written across his face. “I had not planned on doing that. It was a mistake.”

                Ratchet’s spark burned with humiliation. “So I’m a mistake too, huh?”

                “No, that’s not what I meant,” Optimus insisted, and there was a hint of agitation in his tone. “I had meant to invite you here and tell you we needed to end our romantic relationship. My feelings got the better of me, and I apologize for that--”

                “Primus, would you just stop it already!” Ratchet finally shouted. His plating itched and flared, his optics bright with emotion. “I refuse to talk to you when you’re acting like this, like some – some drone! If you want to act that way around everyone else, act like you don’t have your own feelings and selfish fragging desires, then _fine_ , I understand that, but _I_ want to talk to Orion!”

                “I’m not Orion anymore.”

                “Yes you are!”

                “No, I’m _not_.” Optimus glanced down at his servos, curling and uncurling them as he spoke. “Orion loved you—”

                “ _You_ love me, that’s you you’re talking about!”

                “ _No_ ,” Optimus said firmly, his servos curling tightly into fists in his lap. When he looked up at Ratchet, his optics were once again steady and emotionless. “I am Optimus Prime. And as Prime, my duty is to Primus, to Cybertron, and to _all_ cybertronians.” Then there was a flicker, a lick from his field, almost an apology as his tone softened. “A Prime cannot have a favorite.”

                Ratchet felt sick. His chest felt as if it was being crushed.

                “Is that how you see me?” Ratchet asked quietly. Optimus mouth tightened and his ridges furled, guilt slowly forming on his face. When he said nothing, Ratchet felt a creeping fear fill him, holding his frame captive, unable to look away from Optimus. “Orion—” The name was choked, the whole queued question halted in its tracks, as if caught. “Optimus,” he started again, “do you still love me?”

                Optimus’s mouth opened, but for a long moment, nothing came out. His optics were tracing the features of Ratchet’s face, no doubt picking apart the turmoil that the medic could not hide. His mouth closed, twisted, opened again.

                “I’m sorry, Ratchet.”

                Ratchet spun on his heel and took a couple steps towards the door before he could finally stop him, his servos clenching at his chest as if his spark was on the verge of extinguishing. A long silence fell.

                Then, quietly, Ratchet rebooted his voice box.

                “Reassign me to the Praxian front to set up that medical center.”

                “What?”

                “You heard me.”

                “You refused the assignment before,” Optimus said, his voice giving away his confusion at the very sudden shift in conversation. And it was true – the project had been given to Ratchet as CMO, but he had shrugged it off, insisting that Pharma was more than capable of handling the task. “Your choice to go in your stead is scheduled to leave tomorrow morning.”

                “I know,” Ratchet replied, wincing when the words came out sadder than he had meant to reveal. “But I have changed my mind. I would like to go and make sure the job is done right.”

                There was another moment of silence. Ratchet could only assume that Optimus was figuring out his real intent.

                “Very well. I will make the necessary changes on my end. I assume you will handle your replacement?”

                “You’ll hardly even notice that I’m gone.”

                “I doubt that greatly.” And then, quieter, “Will you be returning?”

                Ratchet tried to chuckle but it came out distorted. “Of course I will. I’m your chief medical officer, after all. Can’t be gone for too long.”

                Optimus moved behind him, finally getting to his pedes, as he started carefully, “Ratchet, if you do not feel comfortable with the position anymore, I do not want you to feel as if you cannot leave it.”

                “I thought the Matrix itself told you I should be the CMO?”

                “I would never force you to stay.”

                The irony of it all – that Optimus was forcing himself to abandon all personal desires for the sake of Cybertron while also insisting that Ratchet do what he was comfortable with – only hurt him more.

                “Do _you_ want me to stay?”

                “Yes,” Optimus admitted softly. “You are the best bot for the job and — I realize how this sounds, given what I’ve just done to you, but you are my most trusted friend and companion. It would be a blessing to continue to have you at my side, should you find it in your spark to forgive me.”

                Ratchet could no longer fight the trembling of his frame.

                “Ratchet?” Optimus’s voice was so full of concern, his timbre so deep and warm and soothing, but wavering as he continued, “I’m sorry--”

                “It’s fine,” Ratchet managed to choke out. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Now that I know you’ve abandoned any sense of self-preservation, I can’t very well trust you to take care of yourself, can I?”

                The large servo that settled on Ratchet’s shoulder startled him, but it was the field that came with it, filled to bursting with regret intertwined with gratitude, that broke the strangled sob out of him. The servo tightened its grip.

                “I’m sorry,” Optimus repeated, and there was no mistaking the tightness of his voice. “I hate that I’ve hurt you. I wish—”

                It felt as if Ratchet’s spark was filling his chest, clogging his vents, slowly but surely choking him. However, he did manage to lift a servo up to rest on Optimus’s. The other he pressed to his mouth, hoping to muffle the sob he tried to push down, coming out more like a whimper.

                Optimus’s digits dug in ever tighter, his own words cut off.

                “I should go,” Ratchet whispered.

                Optimus’s field rippled, a cloudy mess of emotions that for a moment seemed to grab at Ratchet’s before it was pulled away along with the Prime’s servo.

                “Alright. I will see you off tomorrow then?”

                Ratchet shook his head as his now free servo scrubbed at his face. “I’m sure you’ll have more important things to do than see a medic off. Have you considered recharging for once?”

                Optimus ignored his comments, asking, “Do you want me there tomorrow?”

                “No,” Ratchet admitted with a slight shake of his head, spark burning in his chest. “I need time.”

                “Then you will have it.”

                For a moment, Ratchet considered turning his helm. Without their fields overlapping, the medic had no idea what the Prime was feeling at that moment. But the risk that he would turn to see the mech he saw in the hallways and at meetings, calm and composed and to some degree detached, the perfect leader, _Optimus Prime_ , was far too great.

                “Good night, Optimus.”

                “Good night, my friend.”

* * *

                 Ratchet pulled his legs up closer to his chest when he heard the roar of a ship’s engines. He hoped against hope it would go on its way; that its driver would mind his own business for once, just _once_. But no, the ship landed and the engines grew quiet. The medic still refused to lift his face from where he had it buried in his arms, even as the crunch of pedes on gravel reached his audials.

                “You’re a long way from home, Sunshine.”

                “Go away,” Ratchet growled, his plating flaring a bit.

                There were more crunching steps heading towards him. “I was swinging by to drop off cubes I nabbed from some ‘cons to find out that you and Optimus had some mysterious blow out. The weird part is that Bulk says it wasn’t like when you two have an argument.”

                “Go _away_ , Wheeljack.”

                “Apparently Bumblebee might have seen something but he’s not saying anything, and I don’t mean because of that voice box glitch he’s got. I gotta say, Doc, it’s got me wondering what he walked in on.”

                “Stop ignoring me!” Ratchet finally lifted his helm to sneer at the Wrecker. “ _Go away_!”

                Wheeljack did stop walking, but he was close now, his arms crossed over his chest. He had the audacity to look exasperated. “You really can’t let yourself just be happy, can you?”

                Fury scorched its way through Ratchet’s circuits as he started to move. “Oh no, you do _not_ get to act like this is somehow my fault!” he shouted, bracing his servo against the ground to get to his pedes. Sharp pain bloomed from his back, causing him to hiss and grimace. Wheeljack’s optics widened and he tried to step forward, suddenly looking concerned, but Ratchet just waved his arm threateningly, warding him off as he continued to stumble to his pedes. “Don’t! This is all your fragging fault, so don’t pretend you care, because if you did, you wouldn’t have gone and ruined _everything_!”

                “Whoa now, dial it back a couple notches,” Wheeljack replied, holding his servos up by his chest, but refusing to step away. “I wasn’t even there so don’t go pointing digits at me.”

                “I will point all the digits I want,” Ratchet gritted out as he jabbed his pointer digit against Wheeljack’s chest, “because you’re the one who came back into my life, after a million slagging years, and decided that because you rode my spike for a few months that you had become an expert who knew best for me, doing me some big _favor_ without even asking if I wanted it!”

                “You weren’t happy,” Wheeljack said defensively.

                “Says you!” Ratchet felt his knee buckle for a moment but simply straightened and ignored it. “Just because I couldn’t have Optimus didn’t mean I wasn’t happy to be his friend! I had put what I could behind me, and I figured out how to handle the rest, I knew how to live with these feelings, but now everything is – it’s all—!”

                Both of his knees buckled and Ratchet’s optics offlined themselves for a moment. Strong servos caught him before he fell.

                “Scrap, seriously, are you alright?”

                Ratchet gritted his teeth, his HUD a mess of warnings. He pushed through it though, straightening and rebooting his optics for good measure to continue glaring at the Wrecker.

                “I’m fine, so stop interrupting me, because I’m not even close to done with you—!”

                “ _Ratchet_.” The medic faltered, before finally letting his mouth close again so that Wheeljack could continue. “You can yell all you want later when you’re actually fine. But right now you can barely stand on your own, so stop being a glitch about this, would ya?”

                Ratchet took in a long in-vent before he finally let his frame slump a bit, grumbling, “I’m just tired. Running a bit low on energon.”

                A lie, but Primus was Ratchet sick of the truth considering where it got him.

                Once he and Optimus had parted ways, it had felt incredible to drive as fast as his wheels could take him. Between the roar of his engine, the pounding of pistons, and constant pop and grind of gravel under his tires, Ratchet had not been able to think or feel, and the staccato rhythm of his spark could be blamed on the exertion on his frame.

                It had left Ratchet numb to reality and he never wanted to stop.

                However, that numbness was likely the reason he had not seen the rocky ground suddenly drop off until his front wheels were already rolling off of it. It had not been far, several feet at most, but at the speed he had been going, it rocked his frame, his front bumper nearly digging into the dirt and threatening to send him rolling back over front. Instead it slipped and ground across the rocks until his back tires landed.

                There had been a snap and pain flooding his sensornet. One of the healed fractures in Ratchet’s back struts, softened by the prolonged heat and then abused by the stress of the rough terrain, had cracked again with the harsh drop.

                It had brought his drive to a sharp end and reality hurtling back into his processor all the worse for it.

                Wheeljack rolled his optics as he moved to Ratchet’s side, shouldering some of the medic’s weight. “Liar,” he said, his servos unyielding when Ratchet tried to pull away.

                Ratchet did not know how to respond to that, so he simply kept quiet, only occasionally muttering that this was wholly unnecessary.

                The Wrecker all but dragged him into the Jackhammer and told him to lay down on the small berth at the back of the ship. For all of Ratchet’s complaints, being able to lay on his front and take all weight off of his back was an immediate relief, and when Wheeljack returned with a cube of energon, the medic took several large gulps before slowing. However, when Wheeljack handed him a towel, Ratchet just stared up at him in confusion.

                “Your face is a mess,” Wheeljack explained far too casually, gesturing with his free hand at his optics. Embarrassed, Ratchet snatched the towel up and immediately started rubbing at his face, ridding himself of all evidence that he been crying.

                Finally, Wheeljack grunted as he sat down on the floor next to the berth, leaning his back against it and starting to sip at his own cube.

                “So. I take it Optimus made his move.”

                Ratchet placed the now empty cube on the corner of the berth and settled down so his face was hidden against his arms. For a moment he considered returning to his ranting, but found he was just too exhausted to fight anymore.

                “He asked about you.”

                “Sounds about right. You tell him?”

                With a quiet ex-vent, Ratchet said, “I did. I figured you wouldn’t care.”

                “Not really, no,” Wheeljack replied with a shrug. “How’d he take it?”

                “Fine, actually. Relieved it’s all in the past.”

                “Better mech than I am. Then what?”

                “One thing led to another and he—he said that he still—”

                When he just trailed off, unable to say it, Wheeljack huffed and supplied instead, “He remembers, huh?”

                Ratchet just shifted his helm slightly in a nod. Static was building up in his voice box again. He expected more questions, more pushing and interrogation, but Wheeljack stayed quiet, taking the occasional gulp of energon, just waiting.

                “I still love him,” Ratchet admitted quietly, his voice strained with frustration as shame gripped his spark at the admission.

                A warm servo rested on his arm, squeezing.

                “I could have told you that.” The words were spoken like a joke, but it was easy to tell they were said without any real humor behind them. After a long moment of waiting, perhaps for Ratchet to volunteer information if he wanted to, Wheeljack asked, “You want company, or should I find something to do until you’re ready to go back?”

                “I’m still angry with you.”

                “I figured. Offer still stands. We can go back to arguing, if that’s what you really want.”

                Ratchet took a while to consider it before shaking his head a bit, saying, “No, not right now. But I don’t want to talk either. You would just be sitting here in silence.”

                “If that’s what you want, Sunshine.”

                With a gentle huff of his vents, he shook his head again. “I’ve already been gone too long and have too much to do. I need to go back to the base.”

                “All you’re going to do is recharge,” Wheeljack insisted as he pushed himself up onto his pedes. “I’ll give the team a heads up and then we’ll take off. Just take it easy and don’t even try to get up until we get there.”

                “I thought I was the doctor,” Ratchet snapped. Wheeljack did not respond though, simply making his way to the front of the ship. Because of the small size of the vessel, the medic could easily pick up what the Wrecker was saying.

                “It’s Wheeljack checking in. I found your wayward medic and I’m bringing him back now.”

                Ratchet let his optics offline and cycled long, deep ventilations. His frame still ached from the harsh ride he took it on and his back was radiating heat from how hard his auto-repair systems were working there, especially now that his systems were full of fresh energon. At least the berth was comfortable enough.

                “Yeah, he’ll be alright. Tired himself out and I think he fragged his back or something. Not that he would tell me.”

                His paneling went slack against his frame and his cooling fans finally slowed to a stop. The ship was nice and cool and soothing.

                “Be there shortly.”

* * *

                “Think you can carry him, Bulk? Doc’s no lightweight.”

                “Over my shoulder maybe, but I don’t think we can risk that if he really did reinjure his back, right? And he’d definitely wake up.”

                “::Maybe if two of us do it together? You get his torso and I’ll get his legs?::”

                Ratchet tried to online his optics, but his processor felt slow and foggy, unwilling to obey his requests to come completely online. All he managed was a slight shifting of one of his arms and a grumble.

                “Oh no you don’t,” came yet another voice as a small servo patted his arm. “Relax, we have this. Just rest.”

                “But I can’t just leave the Jackhammer parked outside your base. Might as well call Megatron up ourselves at that point. And he’s too big for any of us to carry easily.”

                “Maybe not us, but we know someone who can.”

* * *

                Sharp pain dragged Ratchet back online again, but just barely. His vision was a blur and his optics quickly offlined themselves again when he was faced with bright lights. He could feel his frame moving though – rather, he felt his frame being moved, held up by two supports and against something solid and warm.

                “Am I hurting you? Is it your back?”

                The voice was familiar and comforting, lulling Ratchet’s spark to a slower pulserate and his processor nearly succeeded in dragging him back into recharge yet again. Ratchet hummed something that sounded like no before slurring something else about how he was fine.

                There was other voices still chattering around him but it all started to blur together as his frame was moving again, ever so slightly rocked by the supports.

                “Just a bit further,” the voice reassured when Ratchet hissed, the ache blooming again in his back. The pain was just enough to online a few more systems, and when Ratchet onlined his optics this time, it was still bright but he could make out a blurred windshield that his helm was resting against. There was a gentle pulsing under the plating, meaning it was probably someone’s chest, which then meant someone was carrying him—

                “I can walk,” Ratchet mumbled, weakly trying to push against the chassis. The supports – arms and servos, he realized – tightened around him.

                “I have you.”

                And then the movement changed, no longer rocking but instead lowering until there was a cold surface under him. Ratchet grunted and immediately started to try to roll himself over onto his front again. Careful but strong servos helped him until he settled. The tightness in Ratchet’s back eased and his processor started to shut down again.

                “Do you need anything else, my friend?”

                Ratchet laid his helm down to one side so he was facing the voice, his optics bleary as he tried to focus. “Optimus?”

                A wash of a warm, comforting field blanketed him and there was no doubt it was his Prime’s.

                “Wheeljack said you already refueled, but do you need anything else before you recharge? Some coolant perhaps?”

                Ratchet ex-vented. “‘m fine. Just wake me up for my shift.”

                Optimus shook his helm with a frown. “No, you will recharge as much as you need. We will handle your duties until then.”

                For a second Ratchet was going to argue. However, he could feel his consciousness slipping away, so he just hummed before drifting back into recharge.

* * *

                Ratchet felt oddly calm as he onlined. It had only taken a single check of his chronometer to know he had recharged for nearly nine hours, but he supposed it was worth it physically. Most of his fatigue was gone at least. The medic was careful as he stretched his arms out across the berth, noting that the tension was typical for having laid dormant for that long. He did the same with each leg before finally daring to move his torso so he could roll over and out of his berth.

                His back was a bit better. Now that the rest of his body was closer to his usual state, Ratchet could confirm that it was only the one fracture. His auto-repair system had already started its process, and with only one fracture to focus on this time, it should take a fraction of the time to heal compared to before.

                Ratchet swung his legs over the edge of the berth, bracing his servos on his knees to keep his back straight, and cycled a heavy ventilation.

                The calm after the storm, he supposed.

                Ratchet grimaced when he started piecing together the few memories he had after falling into recharge on Wheeljack’s ship. As if he had not already gone and embarrassed himself enough with his display when he had made his hasty escape from the base, it seemed that Wheeljack had called in the team and then they in turn called in Optimus to carry him to his berth, meaning they had all seen for themselves the state he had put himself in.

                And that of course ignored the bright and blaring events that transpired between him and Optimus and the conversation that still lay ahead.

                The simple fact was that Ratchet had reached rock bottom.

                He was deeply embarrassed, but it did not threaten to send him into a panic like it might have the day before. It was a quieter emotion like resignation. Ratchet had put himself in this mess. There was no way for him to take back what had happened or any sort of lie that could cover it up. It was what it was. He was a fragging glitch and the whole team knew it.

                All Ratchet could do was try to pick up the pieces.

* * *

                “I want to apologize.”

                Arcee snapped her helm around to look at Ratchet as he stepped out of his room. He had assumed she would be angry with him, considering she was stuck in his med bed doing his job of processing energon to be cubed and placed in storage during what should have been her shift off. If not that, he would have guessed she would have openly mocked him, considering what a slagger he had made of himself the day before.

                Instead, Arcee smiled in relief.

                “Just take one of my shifts when you’re totally healed up and we’ll be even,” she said as her optics quickly scanned his frame. “Feeling better?”

                “Well enough, considering I acted like some hothead new forge,” Ratchet replied, chagrinned.

                Arcee ex-vented sharply before turning to return to her work. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I know all about going on a self-destructive rampage.”

                “I’m old enough that I should know better.”

                Arcee shrugged lightly, unsurprised when Ratchet reached past her to grab some of the vials of processed energon she had finished and some cubes waiting to be filled and sealed. “Is your back going to be alright? I looked up how to access and weld back struts, if you need me to--”

                “It’s minor. It will heal on its own, same as before,” Ratchet interrupted. Then he turned his helm, his optic ridges furrowed. “You researched how to perform back surgery?”

                “Just in case.”

                “You hate doing anything medical.”

                “I had to be ready for the worst case scenario.”

                Ratchet’s optics widened. “You were that worried about me?”

                “You always take care of us when we go off and get ourselves scrapped,” Arcee explained. “I wanted to be sure I could take care of you in return.”

                “It’s not your job to do that.”

                “No, but you don’t patch us up just because it’s your job either.” Arcee smiled softly, glancing at Ratchet. “We take care of our own, you know? And that includes you.”

                Ratchet’s spark warmed. He ducked his helm a bit, busying his hands with pouring the energon into the cubes. “I appreciate that.”

                “As you should,” Arcee teased, returning to her work as well. “Now, are you going to tell me what in the Pits happened between you and Optimus?”

                “Primus no. I’d let you attempt back surgery on me before I’d do that.” Arcee elbowed him sharply in the side and Ratchet released an amused ex-vent.

* * *

                 The command center was not usually all that dirty, for all that Ratchet complained. It was kept tidy enough. If it dipped too far, Ratchet could usually harass someone into cleaning it or do it himself.

                However, when Ratchet walked in with Arcee upon finishing the energon processing, he was shocked to see that it was spotless. The floors were swept and scrubbed cleaner than he had ever seen them scrubbed, and all their supplies were put away and organized; even the area that the children often occupied, which was always a disaster, was neat.

                “Ratch, you’re up!” Before Ratchet even had a chance to reply, Bulkhead was making his way over, a huge grin on his face as he enveloped the medic in his arms. Ratchet stiffened in the hug, optics wide as he tried to process how he had found himself here. The embrace only tightened though as Bulkhead continued, “We were really worried about you! Are you alright?” Then, suddenly, he loosened his grip and instead grabbed Ratchet by the shoulders. “Oh scrap, did I hurt your back?”

                “No, it’s alright,” Ratchet finally managed, reaching a servo up to pat Bulkhead’s arm and briefly glancing at Arcee. She just shrugged. The surprise was quickly melting into friendly affection as he focused on the large mech before him. “I hadn’t meant to worry any of you, so I apologize.”

                Bulkhead nodded before his expression turned more serious, giving Ratchet a look that he had seen the ex-Wrecker give Miko time and again but had never been the intended audience of. “Just don’t pull anything like that again, ok? We can’t help you if you don’t tell us something is wrong.”

                “I’m not one of the children,” Ratchet insisted, frowning. “Although I suppose my behavior wasn’t much better, so I’ll keep that in mind.” That seemed to be enough to appease Bulkhead. He gave the medic a soft pat on the shoulder before releasing him.

                “And give Wheeljack a call, would ya? He headed out once you were settled in, so you should let him know you’re ok.” With that, Bulkhead stepped back and transformed into his vehicle mode and Arcee followed soon after. Ratchet stared down at them.

                “And where are you two going?”

                “Gotta pick up the kids,” Bulkhead said.

                “We’re gonna take ‘em for a long ride so you and Optimus will have plenty of time to talk it out before they get here,” Arcee added. “Because that’s exactly what you’re going to go do, right?”

                This time, Ratchet rolled his optics. “Anything else you two want to want me to do while you’re out.”

                “We’ll just leave you and Bee to it.” With that, Arcee drove off with Bulkhead following after.

                And that was when Ratchet noticed Bumblebee standing silently by the command center. Embarrassment bloomed anew as the scout waved awkwardly, shuffling on his pedes.

                It had been easy enough to put the events of the night before out of his processor, but Ratchet was very harshly hit with the memory of exactly what the poor, unsuspecting scout had wondered into. He could only imagine what Bumblebee must have thought.

                Ratchet cleared his voicebox as he slowly made his way over, trying to figure out what to say. “Did you three do all this cleaning?” he asked, fighting back a wince at how obviously he was avoiding the topic on their processors.

                Still, Bumblebee seemed open to following along, replying, “::Yep! Bulk started and Arcee and I sort of just joined in. Better than doing nothing, right?::”

                “You didn’t need to do anything.”

                “::Sure, but none of us are really good at just sitting around waiting. So why not get some stuff done around the base so you would have less to worry about when you woke up?::

                Ratchet could not deny that the tidiness did put him at ease, and knowing that the warriors who always complained about doing chores had voluntarily done so for his sake was touching. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you. Remind me to thank Bulkhead and Arcee as well.”

                Bumblebee nodded though his optics were cycling, clearly thinking about something of much more importance. Ratchet shifted his weight to relieve some pressure on his back and ex-vented softly.

                There was no point putting it off any longer.

                “I’m sorry for what occurred yesterday,” Ratchet offered, glancing to the side as he did. “Especially for what you saw.”

                Bumblebee lifted his servos up and waved them dismissively, saying, “::It’s fine! I mean, I’ve walked in on worst things. Kind of part of being a scout. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen!::” A short trill was his way of chuckling, and it was harder to tell because of the damage to his voice box if it was genuine or forced. “::I was just surprised, you know?::”

                Ratchet huffed a laugh and was shocked to find it was not completely hollow. “I certainly do,” he admitted with a light shake of his head. Bumblebee’s optic ridge furled at that, but Ratchet moved right past it, saying, “Well, regardless, I promise that won’t happen again.”

                “::All I ask is you try to keep it behind closed doors in the future.::”

                Ratchet’s expression fell before he could catch himself. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

                Bumblebee was staring at him, head tilting.

                “::Do you want to talk about it?::” When Ratchet did not reply, surprised and unsure what to even think to say, Bumblebee continued, “::I mean look, I’m not all that experienced when it comes to relationships, but I do have some experience in other areas. Not to jump to conclusions or anything about you guys, I just figured, you know, him being him and you being you – You know what, ignore all that. I don’t even have to say anything if you just want someone to listen to you. I can do that. And—Ratchet?::”

                Rachet’s ridges lowered, confused, until he noticed the moisture pooling under his optics. Embarrassed, he restarted his optics and rubbed the moisture away, but he could not manage to wipe the wobbly smile off. “I think I’ve lost all control over these blasted cleanser reservoirs,” he commented, waving his freehand when Bumblebee looked at him worriedly. “I’m fine. I just—” Ratchet rebooted his voice box. “Thank you, Bumblebee. Truly. But I should speak with Optimus before I even consider dragging any of you into this.”

                “::I guess that makes sense,::” Bumblebee replied, “::but don’t be afraid to drag us in. We’re not just a team, you know? You guys are like family to me.::”

                “Some family you are, trying to make an old mech cry,” Ratchet muttered, his tone completely contradicted by the widening smile on his face. Bumblebee’s optics brightened and, without warning, he practically lounged forward, wrapping his arms around Ratchet’s waist and hugging him tightly. At first Ratchet winced – “Careful, careful! If you insist then move your servos up or down, but not right there!” –but he could not help melting.

                Maybe it would not kill him to let the warriors support him every once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, you guys! Your comments on the last chapter were so sweet and motivating, and I haven't had the time to really sit and reply to them all, but I hope to in the next couple days. And if I don't, please take this as my thanks because I assure you I have read and absolutely loved them all. You're all too sweet.


	8. Chapter 8

A couple seconds of hesitation stretched out into thirty as Ratchet stood in front of Optimus’s door.

Bumblebee had told him that the Prime had been rather withdrawn when he returned to the base the night before, quick to reassure the team that everything would be fine before moving immediately to the med bay computer. They had all assumed Optimus had gone to that one instead of the command center computer for the sake of privacy and left him to it. Arcee had interrupted him briefly to hand him a cube of energon, and mentioned to the others that the screens contained what looked like a personal log and a series of other windows of coding beyond her skills.

Ratchet knew it had to have been Optimus’s personal log. No doubt the Prime had gone digging, hoping to pull up some information. The medic doubted he had found much though – not only would Optimus have discovered the sordid tale in his first read through of the entries if it were still there, but Ratchet was also quite certain all details regarding their relationship’s existence had been wiped from the files around the same time he had been given a means to access them.

And yet, Bumblebee told him that after an hour and a half, Optimus had left the med bay with a datapad in his servo.

Suddenly the door in front of him opened, snapping Ratchet from his thoughts as he stared up at Optimus, surprised. It must have been obvious because Optimus said in way of explanation, “I heard you coming down the hall.”

“Oh. Right.”

Optimus looked tired. His optics were dim and when he shifted there was the slightest hint of lethargy in the movement of his pistons and struts. Ratchet’s digits twitched at his sides as his medic protocols threatened to take over so he could scan Optimus, check his stats, and no doubt order the Prime to lay down for a good, long recharge.

However, Ratchet was fairly certain of what ailed Optimus. The medic had managed to recharge, but only because he had driven his frame past its limitations. Had he stayed at the base, there was no way Ratchet would have been able to quiet his processor long enough to do so, and would have been just as exhausted as Optimus looked.

But Primus, he was still so beautiful. It took all of Ratchet’s willpower to stamp down the rush of want that gripped him now that he knew what he could have if he let himself.

“Would you be comfortable coming inside?” Optimus asked, cautious. Ratchet’s spark felt heavy seeing his old friend treat him like something fragile. But, if anything had made itself clear the night before, it was that when it came to his Prime, Ratchet was like brittle glass.

Ratchet nodded and said, “Of course.”

A quiet ex-vent of relief escaped Optimus as he stepped back to let Ratchet past him. The room was just like before, but this time one of the datapads was on the berth, the screen still illuminated.

“You should sit.”

Ratchet nearly rolled his optics. “And you should have recharged,” he replied, although Ratchet did make his way over to the desk chair and turned it to face into the room. “Did you even get through a full defrag cycle?”

“I’ll be fine,” Optimus insisted, watching carefully as Ratchet sat down. The medic did his best to suppress any reactions to the strain on his backstrut, but he could not help a small wince, and almost immediately Optimus was stepping towards him, frowning. “You did reinjure yourself.”

Ratchet’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “It’s just the one fracture, so it will heal quicker this time,” he explained, hoping it would soothe the Prime’s worries.

However, when Ratchet looked up at Optimus’s face, his expression was a miserable mix of upset and anger.

“You should have contacted us.”

“I know.”

“You should have taken more care with your frame.”

“I well aware of that.”

“You should have—”

“There is an endless list of things I should have done but didn’t,” Ratchet interrupted, optics down turned, servos in tight fists in his lap, “and a list just as long of things I shouldn’t have done but did, and I apologize for all of it.”

It was silent when Optimus did not immediately reply, but he did take one step closer to where Ratchet sat. His expression was still twisted, his servos clenched at his sides.

Perhaps it was out of habit – Primus, when had it become habit? – but before Ratchet could reconsider, he was reaching his field out to Optimus’s to get a better feel for what the Prime was feeling. Ratchet had expected resistance but instead Optimus easily let him in to find his field roiling with the emotions he had seen on the Prime’s face. However, something too much like guilt was interwoven into each pulse.

Ratchet stared at Optimus, his optics wide.

“Optimus, this isn’t your fault,” Ratchet said, incredulous. “My injury was caused by my own stupidity, not anything you did.”

Optimus’s mouth tightened. “You felt the need to leave because of what I did. I upset you.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Ratchet insisted. It did not appear to help though as Optimus still frowned.

“No, but I had long figured out that something had ended our relationship. I should have approached the topic much sooner and more delicately. Instead I have hurt you again--”

“You don’t remember breaking up with me in the first place!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I did,” Optimus stated, his expression pained. “And clearly I hurt you badly. And yesterday I did so again, and now you’re physically injured because of it.”

Ratchet pushed up to his feet, waving Optimus off when he stepped closer, already protesting that he should stay seated. “Optimus, my back will be fine, and I mean that,” he insisted, maintaining optic contact and leaving his field open, honest. “A single hairline fracture will fully heal in a week. So long as I don’t transform or go into the field, it will do so unimpeded. I can even bring up the medical information and standard recovery procedures for an injury like this if you won’t take my word for it.”

With a slight shake of his helm, Optimus said, “If you say it is the truth, then I will trust you.”

“Then trust me when I tell you this isn’t your fault.”

“But it is.” Optimus’s field was unyielding and stubborn in its guilt. “I should have spoken to you sooner to avoid what transpired.”

“You realize that goes double for me, don’t you?” Ratchet asked with hollow humor. He was sure Optimus could feel his own guilt radiating off of him. “I knew everything! All of my memories are perfectly intact, everything from the beginning to the end. And from the very first day we got you back, I should have shared them with you.” Ratchet’s shoulders slumped. “You had an entire war to process and relearn. The last thing you needed was the additional confusion of not understanding what happened between us.” His spark clenched in his chest as his gaze shifted to the side, unable to even look Optimus in the eye as shame consumed him. “Yet I chose to keep you in the dark because I was a coward.”

Where Ratchet expected anger to bubble up in Optimus’s field, instead the medic found himself encased in sympathy.

“You were afraid I would hurt you again.”

“I was afraid I would hurt myself,” Ratchet clarified. “I thought if I brought it up and told you what had happened that you would insist it wouldn’t happen again. You would want to start anew, and for all that I’ve lied to myself over the eons, I knew full well I wouldn’t be able to say no to you.”

Optimus shifted his weight from one pede to the other as embarrassment colored his field.

“Given the events that occurred, I cannot say you’re wrong.”

A weak smile pulled at Ratchet’s lips. “I’ve known you a long time, Optimus,” he replied, finally allowing his gaze to return to his Prime’s face. “And that’s how I know it won’t last. You’re still very much Orion now, but I know that eventually Optimus will win out, and any romantic feelings you have for me will come to an end as they did before. And I don’t know that I could survive having you after so long only to lose you yet again. So I had hoped to put off the discussion until then.”

Optimus’s optics cycled, considering.

“You assumed that with time I would cease to be Orion.”

“Not completely,” Ratchet admitted. “Like I told you before, I’ve always known that at your core you were still Orion.”

“And yet you still believe I stopped loving you.”

Ratchet’s plating pulled tight against his frame as he stiffened, his tone bitter as he replied, “I know you did. I asked you myself, and you said—”

“—I said that I was sorry.”

Ratchet stared at Optimus.

The world seemed to turn on its axis and for several seconds he almost believed that somehow the old Prime was back, that the same Optimus who had broken his spark was in front of him once again.

But no. Optimus’s field still held fast to his and his optics were so _young_.

“What?” Ratchet said softly, his optics wide, confused. “How do you know that?” Instead of an immediate answer however, Optimus turned on his pedes and leaned to pick up the datapad that was on his berth.

“When you told me we had stopped using field communication soon after I became Prime, I knew that that meant we had ended out relationship at that time,” Optimus started, his digits swift on the screen of the pad. Ratchet made a quiet noise in confirmation.

Instead of immediately continuing, however, Optimus glanced up at Ratchet and shame tinted his field as he seemed to reconsider his next words. “I should have asked you then about what happened, but with all that I was learning had happened—” Optimus’s optic ridges twisted. “It seems small in comparison to learning my part in this war and the fates of our past companions, but I simply was not ready to come to terms with the idea that, on top of everything else, the mech I consider my lover had long stopped thinking of me in the same way.”

Ratchet could not help taking a small step towards Optimus. His servo twitched at his side, wanting to reach out. Somehow he had never considered that in his cowardice, he had left the Prime to muddle through his own sparkbreak.

“Oh Optimus,” he said, his servos tightening into fists, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you go through that.”

Optimus shook his helm though, replying, “You had your reasons. I cannot blame you for trying to protect your spark when I was doing the same.”

The datapad dimmed from too long being disused and it pulled the Prime from his thoughts. With a swipe of his thumb it glowed again and he said, “My point in bringing this up, though, is that while I was afraid to ask, I did want to find out what happened, so I returned to my entries from around that time. However, I found nothing from that day and very little from the days leading up to it. I thought perhaps I had ceased to use my logs for personal matters. But as I went further and further back, I found entries that I still recall writing. I remembered writing about us.” Optimus’s face pinched then. “But everything I had ever written about you was gone.”

Ratchet nodded knowingly, though the confirmation of what he had always assumed caused his spark to constrict. Still, he replied evenly, “A few thousand years into the war, when it looked as if things were moving in our favor, an old colleague of yours mentioned that once we had won that you should share your logs for the historical record. You no doubt erased our affair while that idea was on your processor.”

After staring down at the pad again in contemplation, Optimus made a noise of assent and replied, “That would explain it. I assume that would have also been around the time I granted you access.” When Ratchet stared at him in bewilderment – how did he know he had been given access? – the Prime simply looked back at Ratchet closely. “But you have never utilized that.”

“You trusted me with that information in case you offlined before the war was over,” Ratchet said, crossing his arms over his chassis, impatience slowly sparking in his processor. “And, by the Allspark, we’ve both managed to survive this long, so no. I haven’t needlessly invaded your privacy.”

“Perhaps you should have.”

Ratchet’s ridges only furrowed deeper as Optimus handed him the datapad. When the Prime gave no further explanation, he looked down at the screen to find text. After only a few seconds of scanning it, however, the medic nearly dropped the datapad, barely managing to keep it in his grip as he stared up at Optimus with wide optics.

“What–what is this?”

“This is what would have come up if you had accessed the logs,” Optimus explained. “After returning to base last night, I dug through the files again, hoping to find where my previous self had hidden the redactions. It took some time, but I managed to find this and the coding associated with it.”

“They were erased!” Ratchet insisted even as his servos held the datapad to his chest. “You erased them—”

“No, I didn’t.” Optimus’s servo lifted to rest against his chest. “I _knew_ I wouldn’t have. So I looked through the programming and eventually found that I had removed them, and then created a program that would recreate them if you ever accessed them.”

 Ratchet’s servos started to tremble.

“Why would you do that?”

“I only know what is written there and in the redacted sections,” Optimus said as he gestured towards the datapad. “The letter is meant for you, but I had assumed you would not begrudge me for reading it, considering I no longer remember writing it.”

His digits clung to the datapad tightly.

“What does it say?”

A thread of melancholy filtered through Optimus’s field.

“While the letter was meant to be read if I joined the Allspark, I think it is also fair to say that the mech I once was is no more.” With a small nod, Optimus continued, “I feel it’s only right to let my past self speak for himself.”

Ratchet took in a slow, shaky in-vent, willing his servos to relax their grip on the datapad. Anxiety and uncertainty still twisted in his chest though.

And then Optimus’s field wrapped around him, comforting and caring.

With a flick of his digit, the datapad glowed once more.

> _Ratchet:_
> 
> _If you are reading this, then I have joined the Allspark. This is my written permission to share these logs with those who are interested once the war is over._
> 
> _As well, I leave you a choice. It is one I should speak with you about, but I am afraid it will only bring up unfavorable memories for you. Or perhaps it is simply my own guilt which has kept me from asking._
> 
> _It does not feel right to decide on your behalf whether or not to make our previous relationship public. And so, I have gone through my logs and removed all mentions of the personal place you held in my life. With this letter you will find a file with those redactions. You may keep the redactions private or even erase them if you prefer. You also have my permission to return some or all of them to their rightful places in my logs before sharing them._
> 
> _The choice is yours, Ratchet. I would not wish for you to be burdened with our past if you did not want it. However, I could not destroy it myself, for even considering it felt like an insult to what we shared._
> 
> _Perhaps, in these redactions, you will find the answers to questions I dared not answer._
> 
> _I did not deserve your forgiveness all those years ago, but I have always been thankful to have my beloved at my side._
> 
> _Thank you, my dear Ratchet._

It was a short enough letter, but Ratchet stood there for several long minutes, ridges drawn in tight as he read it again and again, dissecting every sentence, every word choice. Each time his spark clenched tighter and he felt familiar pin-pricks at the corners of his optics.

Finally, he looked up at Optimus.

“You—” The word came out half static. Ratchet stopped and rebooted his voice box, feeling as if there was a cog out of alignment making it all the more difficult to speak. “Beloved?”

Optimus nodded.

Ratchet’s venting stalled.

“Did you – did you still love me?”

“From what I’ve read in the redactions, and—” He trailed off for a moment, the servo over his chest clenching just above his spark. “Yes. Yes, I did,” Optimus confirmed, and there it was again, that beautiful warm field that seemed to encase Ratchet, “and I do.”

It felt as if Ratchet’s spark had finally reached its breaking point. Eons of emotions flooded his chest, memory processors spinning madly, and his control over it all – the walls he had built up to protect and trap himself – finally failed.

Ratchet’s emotions exploded outward in the only way he knew how.

“You _idiot_!”

Ratchet closed the space between them, raising a fisted servo to bring it down on Optimus’s chest with a harsh clang. “You stubborn idiot! I would have done anything for you—you knew I would have, you slagger!” His other servo held the datapad close to his chassis while he continued in vain to dispel his ire with the banging of metal against metal. Ratchet’s optics were locked on the contact his servo made against the wide chest. “I would have lied, been demoted, anything, _anything_!”

Optimus’s servos curling around Ratchet’s shoulders did not slow the pounding fist against his plating, though the strength of the hits started to wane rapidly.

“I loved you, Optimus! I loved you, and you let me believe that you stopped, and Primus do you have any idea awful that was? I spent months in Praxis feeling like my spark was burning itself out because the mech I was in love with didn’t love me anymore, and it _hurt_.”

Cleanser dripped down his cheeks as finally his fist stilled against Optimus. His digits curled tighter around the datapad.

“I tried to move on – I fragged other bots, even tried to court some of them, but they were never _you_ , and I couldn’t have _you_ —”

Finally, Ratchet peered up at Optimus, his vision blurred as his ventilations hissed.

“—And you’re telling me that all this time _you still loved me_? That this whole time I could have – _we_ could have—!”

Ratchet’s voice broke with a sob and a last pitiful bump of his fist.

Optimus pulled and Ratchet allowed himself to be embraced. One servo settled against the back of his helm, digits stroking as Ratchet shuddered, while the other wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close. Ratchet’s digits found the edges of Optimus’s chest plate and clung to him. He could feel the Prime’s spark pulsing beneath where he leaned his forehelm and found comfort in it.

“You idiot.” It was quiet, barely more than a whisper. Optimus’s hold tightened.

“I know,” Optimus replied, static lacing his voice as well now. Ratchet could hear the pop and whirr as the Prime cleared his voice box. There was no way, however, for him to hide the dark curling of misery in his field that mirrored Ratchet’s own. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Ratchet said bitterly while he tried to will his ventilations to slow. It was an uphill battle as his vents continued to hitch and stall with each painful pulse of his spark. “I’m berating you for things you don’t even remember.”

Optimus’s servo moved to carefully tilt Ratchet’s helm to face him.

“I may not remember or fully understand the decisions I made, but I will take responsibility for them all the same.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“I wish to. You deserve that much.”

Optimus’s thumb wiped away the liquid under Ratchet’s optic, so soft and tender, and it made the medic ache. He managed to keep himself from leaning into the touch, but that was all Ratchet could manage. His frame refused to move away from his Prime.

But Ratchet could shift enough to look down at the datapad wedged between them.

“Do you know why you did it?”

“To some extent,” Optimus admitted as his digits soothed across the side of Ratchet’s helm, delicate along his audial finial. “I know what I wrote about it.”

Ratchet looked up again, his voice box failing him for a moment. All these years he had believed he understood what had happened, had made his theories and stuck to them so hard they had become fact to his processor.

It was momentarily terrifying to ask.

“Why?” he finally managed, the word mangled with static.

Optimus’s optics cycled then, considering, before he pulled away. Dread filled Ratchet’s tanks, but the Prime kept one of his servos on his shoulder.

“Will you sit with me?”

Ratchet glanced at the berth, and his ingrained subroutines shouted no, it was dangerous, he had already made so many mistakes and none of these revelations changed that, he should not get close—

“I did promise to sit and talk, didn’t I?” 

* * *

Ratchet had already known that at the time, Optimus had been wrestling with a fear of failing as a new Prime. The way that the mech interacted with the world had altered drastically to suit his role and what was expected of him even before they broke off their relationship. Optimus became a strongly serious mech, and no matter how he had tried to tell Ratchet it had not been because of what the Council wanted, the medic had never truly believed him.

Now though, settled next to Optimus as they poured over the datapad together, Ratchet realized he had indeed been wrong. Optimus had not changed to suit the Council’s tastes.

Optimus had changed in an attempt to avoid the mistakes of his predecessors.

While Ratchet was not an expert, he had considered himself more than knowledgeable enough about the original Thirteen. About their creation to help in the battle against Unicron, their time of peace, The Fallen, the War of the Primes, and the fates of most of them. Their stories, however, were not ones that Ratchet had ever put much thought into beyond their real world implications. He knew of Prima as he had led the early cybertronians, Solus Prime because of the many creations she had wrought, of Megatronus because of the gladiator who picked up the name for himself in the Pits of Kaon, the Thirteenth Prime because of who he would be reborn as—

He had certainly never considered if they had had personalities or relationships beyond the archetypes they filled in stories.

And never, even in a million more years, would Ratchet have guessed that Solus Prime and Megatronus Prime could have been lovers. That her death had occurred during a lover’s quarrel set in motion by Liege Maximo. That the War of Primes had been, if anything, a terrible and ultimately deadly argument amongst them, each with their own agendas and wishes.

As powerful as they were, it seemed that the Primes had been, at their sparks, not so dissimilar to regular cybertronians as they had all been led to believe.

And that had frightened Optimus to his very core.

Ratchet spark wound up tightly as Optimus summarized all that he had read, occasionally bring up specific passages from the logs for Ratchet to read himself.

About how Optimus had felt trepidation from the place the Wisdom of the Primes held in his spark every time he expressed anger or adoration. Seeking out Alpha Trion for counsel a week into his Primehood had only solidified his fears as the former Prime told stories that Optimus felt spark-deep. Love and hate and greed and passion had led to the ruin of Megatronus, Solus, and Liege Maximo, and with them the majority of the remaining Primes dispersed or rejoined Primus.

About how Optimus could not shake the unease and shame that came with those stories, not his own in this life, but with each passing day they spent in his spark they felt more and more as if they were. He chose to keep the Primes’ stories to himself.

About how Optimus had started to follow the guidance of that caution, restraining his emotional responses and continuing when the results were satisfactory. He was becoming the Prime he was expected to be and the difficulties he had had with the counsel and with the army he now possessed were becoming easier to navigate.

About how Optimus would watch Ratchet from afar and suddenly fear would grip his spark. Thoughts about Solus Prime and her death at her lover’s servos haunted him when, behind closed doors, he held Ratchet close with his own.

About how Optimus came to the devastating conclusion that he could no longer burden Ratchet like this. It was unfair to make his lover the last safe haven for Orion when in every other aspect of his life he was Optimus; to spill the frustrations and misery that came with the loss of his former life in Ratchet’s busy servos and then force him to work at his side as if he was nothing more than his CMO. He could see that he was not alone in his suffering either. He knew Ratchet hated the changes, could barely understand them. Ratchet questioned each step Optimus took in his transformation, refusing to let go of his beloved archivist.

About how Optimus realized their relationship was holding him back.

About how Optimus’s spark had felt as if it was guttering out when Ratchet walked in and smiled, wide and honest, not knowing what Optimus had planned. The sorrow had been overwhelming and he found himself grabbing his lover, kissing him and holding him tight and making love to him because he did not want to let go, he loved Ratchet, why could he not keep this one selfish joy in his life?

About how Optimus had looked down at his servos afterwards and for a moment they looked like Megatronus Prime’s.

“Ratchet?”

The medic had his servo to his mouth, as if it would somehow help to hold the maelstrom of his spark back.

“We can stop here if you need time—”

“I’m fine,” Ratchet bit out. And yet, Optimus let the datapad sit in his lap while he focused his field on comforting him, his large servo steady against Ratchet’s back as his stroked the edges of rigid plating.

“There is no shame in being upset.”

Ratchet lost track of how much time he spent just ventilating and letting Optimus soothe him until the shaking finally stopped.

It was only then that they continued.

About how Optimus shoved the misery of being separated from Ratchet down deep in his spark and forced himself through his duties. Between battle plans and public speeches, sometimes he could fool himself into believing his pain was fading and would someday pass.

About how Optimus nearly lost his grip on everything when Ratchet finally returned, handsome and caring and _distant_ like he had never been before.

About how Optimus realized he would never be able to fully free himself from Orion and instead built walls around where he was buried.

Walls like those that Ratchet had spent their time apart building around himself.

Ratchet buried his face in his servos and ex-vented slowly.

Eons they spent together, both too stubborn to admit to themselves they were still in love and both too afraid the other had stopped.

To think it took the loss of that span of memories to finally break the stalemate.

“We’re idiots.”

Optimus’s servo skimmed Ratchet’s plating as he wrapped one arm around the medic’s shoulders. It was easy to let himself be pulled up against the warm, solid frame.

“That does seem to be the case.”

“Downright glitched in the processor.”

Optimus hummed in agreement.

“Honestly, it would be a mercy to just melt me down for scrap.”

“Only you?”

Ratchet onlined his optics and turned his helm to stare at the Prime. While Optimus’s field was still an odd mixture of comfort for Ratchet’s sake and murky guilt, a flicker of mischief crackled through.

The corners of Ratchet’s mouth twitched.

“Somebody has to keep the others from recklessly getting themselves off-lined.”

“How kind of you to leave that task to me,” and Optimus was fighting back his own grim grin as Ratchet shoved his elbow into the Prime’s side.

“This is hardly the time for sarcasm, you slagger,” Ratchet groused. He could not help the amused huff of his vents though.

Optimus smiled, but it was weak, wavering.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He placed the datapad carefully on the berth next to him before reaching up to Ratchet’s face. The backs of his digits brushed slowly across the curve of his cheek, and if it came away damp with cleanser, he was kind enough to not mention it. Ratchet’s optics dimmed as slowly Optimus’s helm dipped closer to his. “I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“Practice.” With another huff, Ratchet opened his mouth to continue – something about how insufferable the Prime could be – but then Optimus’s forehelm met his with a dull thud.

The Prime’s optics were brilliant as they glowed with emotion.

“I am truly sorry, Ratchet.”

Ratchet cleared his voice box.

“I know.” Optimus’s servo curled around the side of his helm and Ratchet let himself lean into it. “So am I.”

“There’s nothing for you to—”

“Yes, there is,” Ratchet insisted, offlining his optics for a moment as he cycled a ventilation. Guilt gripped his spark tightly. “I was such a slagger about your transition as a Prime that it’s no wonder you kept so much of this from me.”

“You were worried about me.”

“No, I was worried about _me_.” Ratchet onlined his optics, but could not quite lift them to Optimus’s. “You were faced with destiny, and I was still too young and stubborn to understand that.”

“We were both young and stubborn.”

“You’re practically that young again now, and by the Allspark, we’re both too stubborn for our own good.” Optimus hummed in agreement and the sound soothed Ratchet’s spark, helping it to slow closer to a normal pulserate. “But I was also too selfish to let you go.”

“Then,” Optimus said, his tone gentle, “I suppose you were too selfish while I was not selfish enough.”

The chuckle that broke free from Ratchet’s voice box was not as sad as he had thought it would be, and Optimus smiled in return.

“That sums us up pretty well,” Ratchet admitted with a slight shake of his head. His optics flicked up to meet Optimus’s and their fields were so intertwined that he was starting to lose track of the boundaries between them.

They were so close—

 “Ratchet?”

“Yes?”

Optimus was still silent for a moment, his optics cycling as his voice box audibly reset. Finally he said, “There is much for you to consider and I think it is fair to say this experience has been emotionally taxing, so I understand that you will need time.” His optics dimmed and his field lit up with tentative hope. “However, when you’re ready, I would like to ask if you would allow me another chance.”

Ratchet’s spark thundered anew in his chest as his optics widened. Eons of self-imposed facts – that Optimus had moved on, that he would never want Ratchet again, that his love was pointless and unwanted – sprung to the surface of his processor. And yet Optimus still stroked his thumb along Ratchet’s audial, waiting for his response, _hopeful_. For a moment, Ratchet could have sworn that Optimus looked just like that young archivist that Ratchet had practically argued a confession at.

So much of Orion shone in Optimus’s optics.

It only took a tilt of his helm for Ratchet to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took literally four months on the fucking dot to post this, haha. This chapter gave me a really hard time but! Here it is.
> 
> Thank you all for your incredible support and hopefully this was at least partially worth the wait. The last chapter shouldn't take nearly as long. Thank you for your patience.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to jump in here (long after publishing this haha) to say that @zephyrus/@the-storm-winds on tumblr made a playlist and also fanart for this fic and I'm just constantly crying about it??? The playlist is honestly out of this world in how perfectly it fits, and it delves a LOT into pre-amnesia Optimus in ways I never got to in the fic and just. It's fucking amazing. And then the fanart just makes me laugh because it's so good!!!! (slight spoilers in the fanart for this chapter so finish up the fic before you click through hha)
> 
> http://the-storm-winds.tumblr.com/post/172716342352/i-made-a-playlist-for-roseymoseyberrys-fanfic
> 
> https://zephyrus-moonlight.tumblr.com/post/173171648555/youve-got-some-pretty-incriminating-paint

When they had kissed in the med bay the day before, it had been the result of building desperation that finally became too much for either of them to contain. Ratchet had lost control and let himself just drown in the experience because it was never something that he thought he would have again, and his systems burned to take advantage of the once in a lifetime kiss before he was forced to face the consequences of his actions.

It had been passionate and desperate and terrifying.

Now though, the press of their lips was soft and slow moving, and when they parted there was a nervousness that hung in the space between.

They were making a decision.

 _Ratchet_ was making a decision.

“Are you certain?” Optimus asked, gentle as he scanned Ratchet’s face, looking for any signs to indicate otherwise.

Ratchet rebooted his voice box.

“I want to be,” he confessed quietly. When Optimus remained silent, leaving room for Ratchet to explain, the medic continued, “It’s hard to believe you’ll actually stay.”

The servo that had been all but cradling Ratchet’s helm drifted down to pull at one of the medic’s servos. Ratchet relented, allowing his servo to be held against Optimus’s chest where he could feel the pulsing of the Prime’s spark through the armor under his palm.

“I do feel the same fears that I wrote about,” Optimus admitted. “Reading about where those warnings come from explains much that I did not understand.”

“But you’re still pursuing me,” Ratchet pressed as his optic ridges knitted together.

Optimus smiled.

“Because there is another voice that was not here the first time I became Prime.”

Ratchet’s optic ridges furled deeper. “Another—Optimus, there hasn’t been any other Primes since you received the Matrix. So where would new--” The words were cut short as understanding finally dawned on the medic.

Optimus memories had vanished, yes, but his knowledge had remained with the Matrix.

The spark under his servo continued to pulse, intermixed with remnants of Primes Ratchet never knew and one he knew all too well.

“But you never pursued me after what happened.”

“No,” Optimus agreed. “I had thought you had moved on, if you’ll recall. I assume by the time I had started to question the certainty of the Matrix, I would have long thought it was too late.”

“Question the _Matrix_?”

Optimus nodded slightly as he said, “Yes. I have felt those fears since I received the Matrix, but there is also a feeling that comes with it, a–” Optimus paused, his optics cycling as he searched for words, “—a doubt about those fears, about the absolute nature of the Thirteen and their guidance. Following their whims did not keep Cybertron alive, after all.”

Bitterness bloomed in the Prime’s field before it was quickly dismissed.

“And allowing myself to be companionable here, with this team and with _you_ , has caused no harm.” Optimus’s servo tightened around Ratchet’s and some of their digits interlocked. “I started with the doubt my former self gifted me, and now I am certain of it. Coming before me does not mean the Original Primes are greater. While their guidance is appreciated and respected, I wish to make my own decisions if I feel they are wrong.”

Ratchet knew his optics must have been blown wide. He opened his mouth but it took his voice box several attempts before it would turn over. And even then, the medic was not sure what to even say. All he managed was a hesitant, “And?”

“And I believe with all my spark that they are wrong about us.”

In that moment, nothing could have kept Ratchet from reaching his free servo up to drag Optimus down in another kiss. He could feel the Prime’s pulserate quicken against his palm as their mouths pressed and molded together time and again. Millions of years and still they moved as if they had never been apart.

It was when Ratchet tugged Optimus bottom lip between his dentae and Optimus’s cooling fans whirled to life that the Prime pulled back just enough to say, “Wait.”

Ratchet onlined his optics, his own spark twisting with sudden panic and there was no keeping it from bleeding into his field, not when they were so closely intermingled.

“Do you not want to?”

“I do,” Optimus was quick to reply, and there was no denying the strong pulses of his spark and his field. His frame was tensed, as if forcing itself into inaction. “But I meant it when I said when _you_ are ready. Much has been said, and there’s still more to discuss, and I know I will never fully understand what it was like—”

“Optimus,” Ratchet interrupted, leveling an exasperated look at the Prime. Still though, Optimus’s frame did not relax.

“I don’t want you to regret this choice.”

The roiling of guilt in his field spoke what went unsaid – Optimus was afraid of hurting Ratchet.

Again.

Ratchet stroked his thumb along the base of Optimus’s finial.

“Don’t get me wrong, I will insist you give me that data pad, and I will read and reread your logs, redacted and otherwise. And yes, I’ll spend far too much time processing this all and overthinking it, and that does mean I will continue to make a fool of myself for quite some time to come.”

“Then we will wait—”

“No!” Ratchet interrupted again, this time lifting the servo he had had on Optimus’s chest to cup the other side of his helm, bracketing it and keeping the Prime’s optics on his own. “No, no, absolutely not, _no_. I’m a pathetic old mech who never knows when the day will come that something finally manages to offline me, so there’s nothing you can say to make me wait any longer to finally frag the mech I love into this berth!”

That seemed to finally leave Optimus speechless, but as Ratchet’s own words caught up with him, he started to wish he would say something, _anything_. Of fragging course the first time he said love instead of loved, it was when he was ranting and vulgar and—

And Optimus kissed him so, so sweetly.

“You’re not pathetic.”

“Debatable,” Ratchet managed before Optimus captured his lips and licked his way into the medic’s mouth, field curling with satisfaction when Ratchet moaned and his fans clicked on to join his own.

“I will admit that you’ve gotten old.” Optimus’s lips curled at the corners when Ratchet bit him just hard enough to sting.

“Just because you don’t remember it doesn’t mean you aren’t old too.”

Optimus pulled just far enough away that they could properly look at one another. His optics were blindingly bright.

“You love me.”

Ratchet’s spark swelled and his processor finally relented.

“I love you.”

Four million years of repressed affection-passion- _love_ rushed from Ratchet’s spark to fill his field and Optimus responded in kind, pressing against the medic’s mouth again. His digits grabbed at Ratchet’s chassis, stroking transformation seams and then pulling where he could get a grip, tugging Ratchet closer as the medic slipped his own digits under the Prime’s plating to stroke sensors he remembered to be sensitive. And then Optimus was pulling away to fall back on the berth and dragging Ratchet after him—

Ratchet’s servos braced against the berth to stop himself as pain erupted in his back from how it was bent and twisted to hover over Optimus. He tried to fight back a hiss, but the Prime heard all the same.

“Ratchet?”

“It’s fine,” Ratchet said in a rush, onlining his optics to weakly smile down at Optimus. The pain had subsided to an ache and already his processor was rushing to find a way to offline the pain receptors, consequences be damned. “Just not as flexible as I used to be.”

Optimus’s expression pinched until realization dawned.

“Your back,” he said as his optics widened and his servos pressed against Ratchet’s chest, supportive and also trying to gently coax him back upright. “I’m sorry, Ratchet, I had forgotten.”

“I told you, it’s fine. It’s a minor injury at best,” Ratchet insisted. Optimus’s optics narrowed up at him.

“Your backstrut is fractured. That is far from a minor injury.”

“ _Hairline_ fracture. I’m still fine to move around as necessary.”

“Walking and interfacing are two very different things.”

“It’s _fine_.”

“We should w—”

Ratchet managed to shift enough weight onto one servo that he could lay the other on Optimus’s mouth, muffling the Prime. “I swear to Primus, if you say the word ‘wait’ one more time, I’m going to lose my fragging processor.”

Optimus’s optic ridges lifted, exasperated. But, after a moment, a slow ventilation whooshed out of his vents and he pressed a gentle kiss against Ratchet’s palm. Hyper-sensitive tactile receptors lit up and then practically crackled with pleasure when the Prime’s glossa traced along a transformation seam.

When Ratchet removed his servo, Optimus was watching him carefully, though his optics were still bright with arousal.

“Perhaps we can come to a compromise then?”

"I'm listening," Ratchet replied, his plating easing under the gentle swipes of Optimus's thumbs along the kibble on his chest. One of the Prime's servos drifted away to brace himself up so Optimus could mouth at the cables of Ratchet's neck. The medic shuddered and slowly he let himself be pushed back by Optimus's loving caresses and teasing nips, until he was yet again sitting up properly. His backstruts eased as the strain on them lessened.

Then, slowly and with care, Optimus moved to straddle Ratchet’s lap before dipping low to kiss him again.

"Tell me what you want." Optimus's ex-vents were hot against his plating, his mouth trailing along Ratchet's jawline, kissing just below his audial finial.

" _You_ ," Ratchet admitted, and for all of a second he was embarrassed about how quick and eager the response was. However, the growl of Optimus's engine made it clear the Prime liked his answer.

"Then you will have me," Optimus said, finally pulling away to look at Ratchet. His servos had not ceased in their movements though, tracing the lines of Ratchet’s grille. In his chest, the medic could feel his spark sing with each touch, as if Optimus might hear it and touch him more and harder. "But will you allow me to decide how?"

Ratchet could still hardly believe it, would not have otherwise, but here, with Optimus’s abdominal plates under the tips of his digits, the plating shifting subtly with every ventilation cycle and warming from heated systems beneath it, there was no denying the tactile data swimming in his processor.

He was here, with Optimus curled above him, touching him intimately and accepting it in return, and discussing how they were about to interface – and it was not just some fantasy cooked up in Ratchet’s processor. Optimus was here and real.

Ratchet's engine hummed eagerly.

"How could I say no?" he murmured, tipping his helm up in clear desire for another kiss. Optimus obliged him and Ratchet shivered.

When the Prime spoke next, it was against Ratchet's mouth. "Do you promise to tell me if anything I do hurts?"

Ratchet rolled his optics but his lips pulled up into a warm smile.

"If you insist."

"I do."

"Then I promise," Ratchet said. One of his servos finally drifted low enough for one of his digits to brush against Optimus's array panel.

Optimus shuddered and, to Ratchet's surprise and delight, a click and whirl revealed how his panel parted and shifted away.

"And I thought I was eager," Ratchet teased with a chuckle. Optimus frowned, though there was no displeasure in his field.

"I cannot describe to you how frustrating it has been to be so close with you all these weeks and unable to touch." Optimus nuzzled his forehelm against Ratchet's, his ventilations stuttering as Ratchet's digits hesitantly curled around his pressurized spike. “To have you recharging at my side one day and then beyond my reach the next was difficult beyond words.”

“Try four million _years_ and then _maybe_ I’ll pity you,” Ratchet huffed, faux irritation in his tone.

Then, of all things, Optimus laughed. It was quiet and gruff and beautiful.

"Primus, I missed you, Ratchet."

This was how Ratchet would die – his spark finally giving out on him with Optimus’s spike in his servo and his words and laughter playing on repeat in his memory chips. Yet somehow he survived the overwhelming flood of affection in his chest and watched as Optimus shuddered against him, the Prime feeling the wave wash over his field.

With a swirl of Ratchet’s thumb around the head of the spike, Optimus’s back arched and a low hum emanated from his chest.

"Now then, are you going to tell me how we're doing this or not?"

Optimus’s vents hitched when Ratchet’s servo moved on his spike, starting to stroke him before the Prime reached down to gently grasp Ratchet's wrist and tug it away from his spike. "I will, once you stop distracting me."

"Hardly my fault that you're easily distracted." Still, Ratchet removed both his servos and held them up in mock surrender. "Well?"

That gave the Prime pause as he looked at Ratchet and then glanced around the room, his optics cycling with thought. Finally, with a nod, he turned back to the medic and said, "Can you move to sit against the wall?"

"I think I can handle that." Ratchet's tone was sarcastic, but still he was careful as he pressed his servos to the berth to scoot himself back across it. The task turned out to be more difficult than Ratchet wanted to admit, but with Optimus's servos supporting him, it only took a few moments to get himself settled. With his back against the wall, it was easy to lean his weight against it and off his backstruts. Ratchet stretched out his legs in front of him, and didn't even get a word out before Optimus was swinging his own leg over them, yet again straddling Ratchet's hips.

Optimus's spike bobbed with the action, and it was far too tempting for Ratchet to resist reaching out to grip it again. There was no initial rejection — in fact, the Prime's cooling fans whined as they kicked up a notch, his hips jerking up into the hold. That was all Ratchet needed to fully grasp the spike, stroking it and finding himself overwhelmed by the wave of excitement that rushed from Optimus's field and over his own.

Because of their difference in size, Optimus had to curl forward to reach Ratchet's mouth, his hips canting forward with the shift of his frame to press himself further into Ratchet's hold. The kiss lacked the finesse of earlier ones, more open mouthed as Optimus's glossa coaxed Ratchet's to dance with his. It was easy to oblige him when Ratchet's systems burned all the hotter, his own array pinging him to shift his panels away.

And then Optimus's servo caught Ratchet's wrist and tugged it again. This time though, Ratchet did not release his hold easily, too captivated by the purr of the Prime's engine and how his hips practically danced up against his servo, seeking pleasure from him.

Optimus was simply too gorgeous when his ventilation systems started to heave.

"Please, Ratchet," the Prime whispered, pulling at Ratchet's wrist. "As much as I appreciate this, I would prefer you use that servo for something else."

"Oh?"

Optimus looked down at him, his mouth still open to draw in more cool air for his frame, and the corners slowly curled up in a smirk. "I think you'll like it." When Ratchet finally relented and let his servo be led, he found it soon cupping the Prime's valve, hot and already slick with arousal.

"I suspect it's been quite a while since I've allowed myself the opportunity to use this," he said simply, as if it was just a fact, as if Ratchet's processor was not spinning as he palmed the valve lips. "Will you prepare me? I wish to have you inside me."

Ratchet's processor stalled and his spark was threatening to spin out of control.

"Can I?" he asked dumbly, and Optimus chuckled, warm and husky.

"I would like nothing more."

That was all the motivation that Ratchet needed. He reached with his other servo to pull Optimus's helm down closer to him, his mouth latching onto the prime's neck and suckling a thick cable. Charge crackled from it to nip at his glossa and pulled a quiet groan from Ratchet. His servo pressed harder against the wet heat of Optimus's valve, digits sliding between the folds and the heel of his palm grinding against the pulsing anterior node, and he relished in the quiet gasp and the twitch of Optimus's hips in response.

"Don't tease," the Prime asked, moving his hips down to force the medic's hand harder against him. "I do not wish to wait either."

Ratchet's vents hissed at the sharpness of his intake, relief flooding him when his panel shifted away on its own and allowed his spike to extend. Even before he could enjoy just that pleasure, however, Optimus's servos were on him, one cradling the back of his helm to hold him against his neck while the other fumbled against Ratchet's torso, dragging down it in search of Ratchet's spike.

The mission was aborted though as Ratchet's primary digit circled Optimus's rim before pressing past the first calipers.

A rumble echoed in Optimus's chest. Mesh walls gripped the intrusion tightly, and Ratchet realized that the Prime had not exaggerated. He was _tight_ , the calipers were stiff from lack of use and unyielding at first because of it. It took gentle but persistent pushing before the calipers finally began to sluggishly widen.

A flicker of shame escaped into Ratchet's field.

"Ratchet?" Optimus asked, only hinting at concern for now. Ratchet shook his head, forcing an empty smile to his lips.

"It's nothing."

"Ratchet," and it was more insistent this time. Pressing against the walls of his valve and dragging the tip of his digit along sensitive and long ignored nodes only distracted Optimus for a moment, the lights of his optics flicking before they focused on Ratchet again.

Ratchet's digits stroked the Prime's cheek.

"I always knew you wouldn't take another lover, considering your position as Prime was the very reason we parted, but—" Ratchet trailed off, the shame truly starting to grip him now. Optimus tilted his chin so that Ratchet was looking at him again, and the medic blurted, "I should have waited for you. I'm sorry."

Optimus's optics widened in surprise before his field encased Ratchet in comfort.

"No, you should not have. You had no way of knowing what lay ahead." When Ratchet opened his mouth to argue, Optimus kissed him again, speaking against his lips. "I'm glad to know that you did, and that still you returned to me."

"Of course I did. It's always been you," Ratchet murmured, his spark swelling, choking him, and by the Allspark he did not deserve Optimus.

And then mischief stirred in the Prime's field.

"Did you think of me?" When Ratchet stared at him, shocked by not immediately upset by the question, the corners of Optimus’s mouth twitched and threated to curl as his hips rolled and _frag_ , Ratchet had forgotten he was still pressed inside. The movement took his digit down to the knuckle, forcing more rows of calipers to make room around him. "When you sought comfort with Wheeljack, was it me you thought of?"

A startled snicker escaped Ratchet, almost more a hiccuping of his vents, and his distress was completely washed away. If Optimus was comfortable with teasing him about it, then that was all the proof Ratchet needed.

"How else do you think he found out about us?" When Optimus looked down at him, optic ridges pulled in with confusion, Ratchet realized his slip. But Optimus did not look unhappy, so it was only sheepishly that Ratchet added, “I suppose I’ll have to explain that whole business eventually, won’t I?”

“Eventually,” Optimus agreed as his hips shifted against the movements of Ratchet’s digit inside him. For all that he moved though, Ratchet could tell the Prime was still processing the information, analyzing it and picking it apart.

Optimus must have come to a conclusion though, a grin slowly splitting his face and smug satisfaction rippling through his field. He curled forward until his mouth vented hot air across Ratchet’s audial.

"Did you call out my name, Ratchet?" Optimus asked, his tone equal parts curiosity and amusement and heat. His digits wrapped around Ratchet’s spike, squeezing just tightly enough while his thumb traced the lines of biolights without needing to look.

Ratchet in-vented sharply and it took every ounce of willpower in his frame to keep from bucking his hips and whimpering.

“You know, I told him you weren’t the jealous type, but I’m – hahh _frag_ – starting to realize how very wrong I was.” So, so carefully, despite how Optimus’s servo was sending his charge skyrocketing, Ratchet pressed a second digit to the valve rim and slowly pushed the calipers further. As he did, he circled Optimus’s anterior node with his thumb. “Although I suppose possessive is more accurate in this case.”

The mischief melted away into affection as Optimus’s optics cycled nearly offline, his mouth hung open in an attempt to pull cool air in as his hips twitched against Ratchet’s servo. His field wrapped tightly around Ratchet.

“I certainly have no intensions of letting you go again, my love.”

Ratchet’s engine _whined_ in his chest and charge burned his lines in its wake. It was such a selfish sentiment for Optimus, selfish and possessive and wanting.

Ratchet lost himself in another kiss, long and sweet and needy on his part while his servo stroked up along Optimus’s back, easily picking out the charged nodes as they snapped static against his digits. All the while Optimus’s valve opened to him, calipers moving with greater ease as he started to stretch his digits apart, lubricant dripping down his digits to pool in his palm and slide between plates.

And nearly every pull on his spike had Ratchet moaning against Optimus’s lips.

His spark twisted and coiled.

“ _Please_.”

Optimus pulled just far enough away to watch Ratchet, to see how his optic ridges furrowed and his optics shimmered, to feel Ratchet’s field flitter with overwhelming desperation.

He cradled Ratchet’s helm with one servo and stroked his cheek.

“Tell me what you want.”

It took several attempts as Ratchet tried to find words to express what he felt spark-deep.

“Keep me,” was all he could manage and it still did not seem like enough.

But Optimus’s field held fast to his, taking all that it was broadcasting, feeling it for himself. His helm dipped forward to rest against Ratchet’s and his servo left the medic’s array so that Optimus could wrap his arms around Ratchet, embracing him as best he could in their position.

“Of course, Ratchet. For as long as you wish for me to be yours.”

The swelling of Ratchet’s spark felt as if it was choking him. Both of his servos grasped at Optimus’s back, pulling and clinging, and out of his voice box tumbled, “ _Always_.”

Optimus's hold shifted so he could cradle Ratchet's helm between his servos, keep him in one place while the Prime kissed him. It was open and wanting, more just lips brushing as they vented each other's air. Hips rolled and the heat of Optimus's valve rubbed along Ratchet's spike.

"I ask you keep me too."

Ratchet's answer – “Yes, yes, of course, _yes_ ” – was drowned out by static as Optimus sank down and the circuit between them was complete. Charge arced where nodes aligned, burning as it raced up Ratchet’s backstruts and out to every periphery mechanism in his frame until it had the entirety of his systems in a fiery grip.

Optimus was venting harshly against his trembling lips as charge took hold of his frame too.

Their fields were indistinguishably tangled and merged.

" _Ratchet_."

It only took one attempt at pressing his hips up into their joining for Ratchet to be reminded of his injury. The pain barely scratched the surface of overwhelming pleasure and affection flooding his processor, but it was enough to warn against trying again. So the medic dragged his servos down Optimus's back to grab the Prime's hip flares.

"Are you—?"

"Yes." Optimus shifted, his valve rippling around Ratchet and dragging along the sensitive plating when he rose only to drop again, taking the spike in one smooth motion. It was a tight fit, but the calipers were already easing open further to accommodate. "And your—?"

"If I don't move, it's fine."

"Then move me."

Optimus readily followed the lead of Ratchet's grip on his hips, rocking and bouncing in his lap. They should have been going slowly, should have tried to savor the moment; four million years was a long time to wait to just rut against each other like newly forged bots chasing their first overload.

But Optimus groaned low and deep, his optics brilliant blue as he fought to keep them online, to watch his lover. And that combined with the overwhelming rush of pleasure-lust-love from every receptor in Ratchet's frame left the medic babbling static-laced nothings between his moans and whimpers, repetitions of love and need and his Prime's name over and over. There was no way to slow their coupling, not when Ratchet felt as if his spark was going to collapse into a supernova.

Optimus’s digits nearly dented with how tightly they gripped Ratchet’s shoulders and it was a relief to see the Prime unraveling as quickly as he was.

It was with lips pressed close that they toppled over the edge together.

There were pops as metal cooled. Engines slowed to gentle rumbling. Lubricant dripped slick down plating.

It was difficult to tell who was trembling harder between the two of them.

“Thank you,” Optimus murmured softly against Ratchet’s neck.

“You did all the work.” Ratchet’s blissful chuckle was echoed in an ex-vent in the crook of his shoulder.

“Not for this, though it _was_ incredible.” Optimus pulled back just enough, his lips pulled up in a tired smile, his optics dim.

Ratchet snorted derisively as he stroked Optimus’s back.

“Idiot. That’s my line,” he said with nothing but affection in his tone. There was no moment of hesitation before Ratchet added, “I love you.”

Optimus’s kiss was gentle.

“And I love you, Ratchet.”

Satiated as it was from their joining, Ratchet’s spark still tripped over a pulse to hear Optimus and know it to be true.

“But I have to ask—”

“No, you don’t,” Ratchet insisted. “I think my answer is clear.”

“I want to confirm it nonetheless.” Optimus held Ratchet’s helm as he watched his optics. “Are you sure you wish to take me back?” And there it was again – that concern and guilt bubbled up in Optimus’s field where only pleasure had been before.

Ratchet’s field overwhelmed it with spark-deep affection.

“When have I ever said no to you?”

“Ratchet—”

“I’m sure, Optimus.” Ratchet stole a kiss. “I’m more sure about this than words can describe.”

The relief was clear as day on Optimus’s face, his smile widening as the last bits of tension eased from his shoulders. With it, however, the Prime’s frame sagged and his engine guttered for a moment. It was when his optics flickered that Ratchet ex-vented softly and lifted his servos from Optimus’s back to his face. Optimus easily let his helm rest against them.

“You really didn’t recharge last night, did you?”

“No,” Optimus admitted. With a large in-vent, he finally shifted and lifted off of Ratchet’s depressurizing spike, both of them wincing at the loss. “But I’ll be fine.”

“After a full defrag maybe.” Ratchet shoved gently against Optimus’s chest. The fact that only moments before Optimus had been doing the same out of concern for him was not lost on the medic. “You need to recharge.”

“Will you join me?” And oh, was the Prime an image, slick glistening on the insides of his thighs as he carefully moved off Ratchet to lay back on the berth, elbows braced to keep his chest and helm lifted. Curling up against Optimus, helm resting on that broad chest, enjoying the final lingering snaps of static of afterglow – it was tempting.

Recharge, however, was far from Ratchet’s processor.

“I just recharged for nine hours, so no,” Ratchet declined, even as his frame betrayed him, moving to lay himself atop Optimus. “Not to mention all the work I have to get caught up on.”

Optimus’s servos were careful as they ghosted up Ratchet’s back, stroking gently before settling on his hips.

“Then at least until I fall into recharge?”

“That’s hardly much of a promise,” Ratchet said as he gave Optimus a wry smile. “I have no doubt that the second this conversation is over and you offline your optics that you’ll be out like a light.”

Optimus hummed as his optics further dimmed. “I suppose my frame really is old considering how you’ve tired me out, my dear.”

Ratchet huffed a laugh. “Just wait until you’ve had a proper recharge and my frame isn’t recovering. I assure you we still have stamina left in us yet.”

“Good.” For a moment, Optimus’s field heated again. “I fully intend to make up for time lost.”

“I look forward to it.”

Optimus’s optics brightened, watching, as he repeated, “I love you.”

Ratchet grinned as his spark raced yet again.

“I should hope that hadn’t changed in the last minute.”

“It won’t ever change.”

Optimus’s spark pulsed strongly beneath Ratchet’s helm, and for all of a second, Ratchet would have sworn he felt the touch of an old friend in it.

Ratchet buried his face into Optimus’s chest, though he suspected that Optimus would know the lopsided smile he hid.

“No, I suppose it won’t.”

* * *

 

There were few challenges as difficult as uncurling oneself from their lover when other obligations had to be fulfilled. Ratchet had mocked many of mech for it over the years anyway though, teased them, asked about what joy could possibly be found in staring at the slack expression of a mech in recharge that it kept them from being productive with their time.

But finding himself with his lover again – his _lover_ and oh how that alone nearly sent him into a tizzy of glee – Ratchet wondered if he would ever have the strength to leave Optimus’s side again.

Time ticked by though, and Ratchet did have things to do besides tracing the lines of Optimus’s face.

He would be back, Ratchet reminded himself. This would not be the last chance he would have. Optimus had promised, and Ratchet could not help but believe him.

* * *

 

“::Ratchet?::”

Bumblebee had to have been keeping on optic on the hallway considering how quickly he spotted Ratchet as the medic reentered the command center. Ratchet was surprised for all of a second before huffing an ex-vent, touched by the scout’s concern. It was with a wave of his servo that Ratchet reassured, “Our conversation went fine, so stop looking so worried.”

“::Fine?::” Bumblebee pushed anyway, no longer even pretending to be watching the console in front of him. His optics were cycling and focusing, considering Ratchet with a scrutiny that typically was saved for when he was out on a scouting mission. “::Fine as in things are just settled or fine as in things are good?::”

There was no way to keep the small smile from tugging at his lips.

“Good.”

Bumblebee’s optics still had not stopped their mission despite the response, not until they paused once they landed on Ratchet’s hips before cycling wide. They were quick to flick up to Ratchet’s face then and the scout whistled, optics bright with glee.

“:: _Really_ good, apparently.::” Ratchet’s optic ridges furrowed at that, dread starting to build. Bumblebee must have seen the question in his gaze because the scout continued, tone oddly excited, “::You’ve got some pretty incriminating paint transfers, Ratchet.::”

That set Ratchet into a tizzy. His optics blew out wide as he looked down and embarrassment gripped him when he saw that yes, the chrome on grey was not especially obvious but the paint transfers were plentiful across the sides of his hips. No doubt they were left from Optimus’s thighs gripping him as he rode towards overload—

Ratchet’s cooling fans turned on as his servos made aborted actions, unsure if trying to hide the remnants would make it worst or better. His face was hot with embarrassment.

“I—Primus, I hadn’t noticed—”

“::Don’t worry about it!::” Bumblebee insisted as he waved his servos in front of him. “::I wasn’t teasing or anything! If anything, I’m happy for you.::” When Ratchet just stared at him in disbelief, asked, “::What, I can’t be happy that you’re happy?::”

The embarrassment did not dissipate, but it was joined by affection.

“What you can do is keep this to yourself,” Ratchet managed. Already he saw Bumblebee straighten and start to retaliate, so he spoke over him, “ _And_ help me buff these out so I can get back to work.”

Bumblebee’s optics narrowed, arms crossed as Ratchet walked past him towards the med bay. “::Ok, but you’re at least going to tell _me_ about it, right?::” When all he got was silence in response, the scout followed Ratchet. “:: _Right?_ Come on, Ratch, you’re killing me here!::” 

* * *

 

“So?”

Ratchet rolled his optics, keeping his frame turned towards his work. The broken tools he had been working on the night before had be all swept into their usual box sometime between the fight and Ratchet returning to his work, so he had had to separate out the junk again and then finish going through the ones he had not sorted before.

“As I told Bumblebee and I’m sure he told you all, everything is fine now.”

Arcee gave a huff of her vents that sounded suspiciously like his own and Bulkhead gave him a disappointed look that is normally aimed at Miko. The other team members were gathered around where the children were hooting and hollering over their videogame, no doubt to provide interference so that the two warriors could take their turn grilling their medic.

Ratchet could appreciate that that meant the children had not been told anything yet.

What he did not appreciate was that Wheeljack had arrived with them and likely only the presence of everyone else was keeping him at bay, gathered around the small human television with Bumblebee. He was keeping Miko from following after Bulkhead at least, but that was all the credit Ratchet was willing to give.

“‘Good’ even,” Arcee admitted as she leaned her hip against Ratchet’s work table. “Which is just as vague and unhelpful as ‘fine.’”

Ratchet shrugged.

Seconds of silence passed, Arcee waiting and Ratchet refusing to give her the satisfaction.

Bulkhead glanced at Arcee and, after a moment, she nodded at him.

Ratchet nearly leapt out of his paneling when Arcee and Bulkhead’s fields unfurled and mingled with his own. It was casual, friendly even, but he had been ill-prepared. His field still echoed pleasure and shock and the sheer glee that came every time he recalled that Optimus was his again. Ratchet could not rip his field close to himself fast enough.

“What are you doing?!”

“Just utilizing everything at our disposal,” Arcee replied, a grin splitting her face nearly in half.

Bulkhead shrugged lightly as he added, “Who knew that field communication was so helpful?”

Ratchet’s face heated as he put his tools down on the table and finally turned to face the two. “Are you satisfied now then? I would like to get caught up with my work sometime this decade.”

“Not yet,” Arcee said, optics cycling with thought for a moment. “I’m still no expert in reading fields outside the berth, after all, so I didn’t get as much as I could have. But even I could tell that felt like more than just ‘good’. Bulk?”

“Yeah,” Bulkhead agreed, and he was giving Ratchet an odd once-over, too similar to what Bumblebee had done. Ratchet could only thank his luck that the paint transfers were long gone. Bulkhead leaned forward and pitched his voice lower. “I mean, I don’t want to overstep, but some of that kind of feels like stuff I’ve felt in a berth, you know?”

She leaned forward as well and quieted her voice. “I definitely agree, so come on, Ratchet. What’s going on with you and Optimus?”

Ratchet could feel himself fidget, shifting from one pede to the other while he cast a quick glance towards the rest of the team. Thankfully, Bumblebee and the children were still focused on the screen.

Wheeljack, however, caught his optic and lifted his ridges in question.

It felt wrong that after all these years of hiding, Ratchet was actually tempted to admit the truth. Even when he and Optimus had been together, they had been private about it with only a couple other mechs who knew, and that was before they had gone into complete secrecy about it with Optimus’s ascendance to Primehood. After they had broken up it only become more imperative that Ratchet keep it to himself, adding the need to protect his dignity along with the need for continued secrecy.

But when Bumblebee had helped him get rid of the paint transfers, it had been so difficult to keep his mouth shut and not give into the scout’s wheedling.

And now with Arcee and Bulkhead staring at him, the desire to finally be honest was, again, overwhelming.

The team cared for him and Ratchet trusted them.

But Optimus was still Prime and they were still at war and it had always been a secret and—

“Hey, Optimus! We were wondering where you were,” came Wheeljack’s voice, cutting through Ratchet’s thoughts. Ratchet tore his gaze from the warriors to find that the Prime had, indeed, entered the command center.

Ratchet’s spark raced in his chest.

Optimus’s gaze almost immediately settled on him and his optics brightened.

“I didn’t mean to alarm anyone,” Optimus said to the room at large, even as he made his way towards Ratchet. “I simply had recharge to catch up on.”

“Which you should still be doing,” Ratchet pointed out and the comment only made Optimus smile. The rest of the team was still there – Arcee and Bulkhead were still right next to him, in the periphery of his view – but his spark was spinning faster and it was hard to see anything but Optimus.

“A minimal defrag will be enough for now.” Optimus’s servo rested on Ratchet’s shoulder. “And you’re well?”

Arcee and Bulkhead were sharing a look, but Ratchet could not see what was communicated between them as he gazed up at Optimus.

“As I told you just a few hours ago, I’ll be just fine.”

“Good.”

And then, just like that, as if it was as normal as anything else, Optimus leaned down and kissed him.

Ratchet’s optics grew wide and his engine stalled. The only sounds that could be heard in the command center as Optimus slowly drew back was the sharp in-takes of ventilations and the quiet sound of virtual cars crashing from the television.

Optimus had the decency to look abashed.

“You,” he started, glancing to the side for all of a split second before returning, “haven’t told them yet.”

“I didn’t think – it was always a secret, I thought you’d want to keep it that way, considering you’re still Prime.”

“I didn’t see any reason it would be a problem—”

“Whoa whoa _whoa!_ Hold up, _what?_!” screeched Miko from across the command center. And that was all that was needed before the whole lot of them got in their two credits.

“::Slag yeah! It’s not a secret anymore!::”

“I knew it, I told you, Bulk—”

“I never said I disagreed, just that technically there were other possibilities—”

“Wait, you guys can date?”

“Robots who love—”

“Wait, you have to kiss again! I didn’t have my phone ready for the shot of a lifetime!”

Ratchet’s face was buried in Optimus’s chest, his systems running hot with embarrassment. But his proximity sensors could pick up that the rest of the team was coming over and by the Allspark, this could not get more embarrassing—

A servo slapped him shoulder and Wheeljack said, “Relax, Sunshine! We’re all happy for you.”

That caught the medic’s attention. Ratchet pulled away just enough to look up at Optimus, and his expression was nearly enough to surprise a laugh out of Ratchet. Optimus looked just about as embarrassed as him which just looked so out of place on the mech who was their _Prime_. But there he was, shyly smiling while his field burned hot with embarrassment.

And the rest of the team, when Ratchet finally worked up the courage to look at them, did not seem at all upset at the sight. They were clearly amused, but more than that—

“Really?” Ratchet asked cautiously.

“::Duh,::” Bumblebee whirred and Bulkhead nodded in agreement.

“But—but I’m your medic! And Optimus—”

“We take care of our own, remember?” Arcee interrupted, her smile holding none of the smugness that Ratchet expected. “If you two are happy then we’re happy.”

Ratchet had to reset his audials and optics, but the results were the same.

They were _happy_ for them.

Ratchet’s spark swelled and his expression twisted with emotion. Optimus’s thumb rubbed soothing circles against his shoulder plating and the chaste kiss he placed on the top of Ratchet’s helm was so sweet and it was right in front of their team, their _family_ , and it was alright.

It was actually going to be fine.

“Thank you,” Ratchet said softly, his smile wobbly despite his best efforts. It took a full ventilation cycle and a couple reboots of his voice box before he continued more strongly, “Now come on, I can tell you’re all about to short circuit from curiosity. If you want to hear the story then you’ll need to give me some space—”

The shift was nearly instantaneous. The bots all moved, Bulkhead grabbing a makeshift stool that Ratchet guessed was for him while the rest scooped up the children and grabbed boxes for the rest of them to sit on.

Optimus stole a quick kiss and Ratchet could not stop smiling against his lips.

Optimus was Prime, but he was also Orion, and he loved Ratchet.

And Ratchet was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally here we are. The end of the first tf fic I started writing and posting. And honestly the longest fic I’ve actually finished in… well, a very long time, haha.
> 
> So first of all, thank you all so much for coming along on this crazy trip with me!! I’m still blown away by all the folks I’ve met through this fic and how quickly this fandom welcomed me. You’re all the best and greatest and honestly just gosh. What a great bunch of folks you are. So thank you for all your comments/reblogs/likes/kudos/encouragement/etc!!! You’re all the best.
> 
> Second of all, this here is the end of this whole business. I can pretty much promise you that I won’t stop writing this ship any time soon, but this will be it for this specific au as far as I have planned. If you have any questions that weren’t addressed and you’re curious enough to ask, feel free to do so!
> 
> Thank you all again and I hope you enjoyed the final chapter!!


End file.
